


A Brand New Domain

by threepwillow



Category: Glee
Genre: Legally Blonde, M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), Size Kink, whom I love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 03:59:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4085827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threepwillow/pseuds/threepwillow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Chandler gets cast in an off-Broadway (with about fourteen "off"s) production of Legally Blonde: the Musical, playing Carlos (or is it Chuck?), he's fully aware that it's stupid to get a crush on his on-stage love interest, Nikos the poolboy played by the mysterious Adam Crawford. But he totally does it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brand New Domain

**Author's Note:**

> Set about a year from the end of s4, so semi-AU. Originally posted on LiveJournal in July 2013. The culmination of my unnecessary love for my small bespectacled son Chandler Kiehl. I never meant for this fic to happen but then it happened *so much*, you guys.
> 
> I myself have played Chutney in LB:tM and the majority of the stuff concerning the production was pulled from personal experience with the text and performance of that show.

Chandler's first impression of the place is that it's the shittiest little theatre he's ever been in. And having grown up flaming-gay on the northern outskirts of Lima, Ohio, that's saying something, because he has seen a  _lot_  of shitty little theatres. He's hoping that having nailed his audition and gotten cast will make everything seem just a little bit brighter, but unfortunately his second impression of the place is pretty much the same as the first.  
  
His first impression of the director is that he's  _crazy_ , and that hasn't changed much either.  
  
"First run-through!" he shouts at the top of his (impressive) lungs, clapping his hands together. "We'll sit on the stage floor in a circle arranged according to importance. That means Elle, Emmett, and the dog right next to me, other principles further out past them, et cetera et cetera, until the useless Delta Nus and law students with no lines all the way on the other side." He pauses and flips his (also impressive) hair but is shouting again in two seconds. "Hurry!"  
  
Chandler isn't a hundred percent sure about where he falls in the hierarchy, but he does have a decent chunk of a song all to himself, so he slides into the lefthand side of the wobbly ring ("I said  _circle_ , not ugly peanut-shape! Did you all fail kindergarten?") between the forty-something guy playing Winthrop in admissions and the fifty-something guy playing Elle's dad. It's a great vantage point from which to watch the man-diva playing Callahan and the busty Latina playing Enid squabble over their placement. She's got claws, so she's probably going to win.   
  
They go around clockwise introducing themselves. Jesse st. James, psycho director extraordinaire, talks for a solid twenty minutes, and literally zero of it is interesting to Chandler except that apparently they're both from Ohio. The Vocal Adrenaline thing makes  _total_  sense. No one else has a résumé nearly as extensive - considering they're  _off_ -Broadway with about fourteen "offs" - or at least they have the sense to shut up about it. Most of the Delta Nus wait tables and Jesse just waves his hand at them as if he couldn't care less. He probably couldn't, actually.  
  
"Chandler Kiehl," he says, swiftly and as normal as possible, when it's his turn. "I'm a sophomore at NYU studying film and stage performance and I'll be playing Chuck, the boyfriend."  
  
"Carlos," Jesse corrects automatically.  
  
Chandler frowns. "No, Chuck? You're changing to the movie version because you couldn't cast someone who looks hispanic."  
  
"It's Carlos. You're Carlos."   
  
"You said it yourself in your casting email."  
  
"Don't argue with me! I am the director!" He sighs dramatically at like, all the total grief and suffering Chandler is obvs causing him. "I knew casting actual gays in the gay parts would make this unbearable."  
  
Enid - Santana Lopez, a name Chandler almost recognizes from somewhere - looks like she's about to turn into an actual tiger and prowl across the floor and slice his face off. "Look, Jerkoff st. Jheri-curl - "  
  
"Anthony Beal!" yelps Elle's dad from Chandler's left, and the circle continues around. Chandler can't decide if he's relieved or disappointed; that definitely would've been the best catfight he's seen all year.  
  
The circle wraps all the way around to the bland, uncute Emmett, a few years older than Chandler with a gross ponytail, and then naturally Jesse starts to talk again. "Obviously we have a few people missing, though their excuses are terrible. Latoya, who will be playing Pilar, is at some funeral, a couple of sorority girls couldn't get off work, I'll probably cut them, and our Nikos, Adam, is helping out with some lame spring showcase night at NYADA."  
  
Chandler's intrigued - a little at NYADA, but mostly at "Adam." His spirits had fallen a little when he realized no one had introduced himself as Nikos the poolboy, and he's super-curious to meet whoever it is whose boyfriend he's pretending to be. NYADA and a normal-sounding name are reassuring, of course. But nothing beats a good, solid first impression.   
  
-xxx-  
  
"Do you know an Adam Crawford?" Chandler calls half-heartedly when his roommate trudges home from class the next afternoon. This is mostly the relationship they have - conversations brief and with no preamble. He's pretty sure they each find the other just, like, mildly annoying.  
  
"No?" says Gavroche, throwing his messenger bag in a dead heap on the floor. "Why would I?"  
  
Chandler rolls from stomach-down on his bed to sitting up, gives him the eye. "He goes to NYADA, I think, aren't you like the expert?"  
  
"Well it's not like I  _go there_  or anything. Duh?" He slumps into his desk chair and tugs unnecessarily at his scarf for a good thirty seconds. It ends up exactly like it was to start.   
  
"Duh," Chandler echoes. Gavroche probably complained four times a day that he was at NYU instead of NYADA their first semester, but okay, whatever. "Okay, whatever." He goes back to looking on Facebook. There's about twenty Adam Crawfords in their area and he has yet to find one with friends in common with him, or who's listed NYADA under schools.  
  
Then again, Chandler admits, he's not really trying very hard. It's mostly because he doesn't quite understand why he's even trying at all in the first place. After these first couple of weeks, which are Delta Nu-intensive and mostly dancing, Chandler's totally just going to meet him at their first music rehearsal for act 2. Yet Chandler is like, stupid curious about this guy, to the point that he's kind of not doing his homework even more than he's usually not doing his homework.  
  
"I'm a slave to social media," he whines aloud, goofily melodramatic. Gavroche doesn't react - he's already got his enormous headphones on and is lip-syncing to himself. Chandler rolls his eyes at him - and a little bit at himself - and flops back onto his stomach. He clicks the next one on his list.  
  
Oh god, it's  _him_.  
  
"There - right -  _there_ ," he breathes, scrolling slowly downward. If this Adam Crawford is the right Adam Crawford - and surely he must be, he has "Legally Blonde: the Musical" under his Likes - Chandler will have  _zero_  problem pretending to be his gay boyfriend. His profile pic is him in partial silhouette in front of a London skyline, that huge Ferris wheel glittering behind him and leaving slivers of light dusted across the profile of his nose and cheekbones, which are frankly to die for. He's smiling casually, perhaps laughing at something unseen, and wearing an absolutely fabulous hat and he's just the  _perfect_  amount of unshaven and frankly Chandler could just eat him with a freaking spoon.  
  
He sends a friend request before he can stop himself.  
  
(He is not ashamed.)  
  
Pleased with himself for embracing and owning his creeper-status tendencies, Chandler clicks back from Facebook to Twitter - his true domain - and adjusts his glasses, settling in for a long solid night of procrastination. It's not like he could focus on his comparative essay with Gavroche Gavroching all over the place anyway. Not until after he's caught up on most of his favorite LGBTQ* feeds and thrown a couple of tweets around with his scene partner for his Wednesday 1:30 does his brain kind of register the pieces of what he's just seen:  
  
Nothing visible on Adam's profile under the "interested in" category.  
  
A photograph against the London skyline.  
  
The irony is not lost on Chandler.  
  
"Is he gay...  _or European??_ " he laments aloud.  
  
"Is who?" says Gavroche, unexpectedly aware.  
  
Chandler doesn't answer; he just does what he does best, and tweets.  
  
_**@iGottaKiehling**  That is the elephant in the room._  
  
-xxx-  
  
_"It's not the time to overthink -  
Just try it once, and he'll buy you a drink!"_  
  
The girl playing Elle is undeniably fabulous. It's pretty clear to see that she  _mostly_  got cast because Jesse wants to bone her, but Chandler doubts Jesse even would want to bone her if she weren't at least some degree of stupidly talented. He's decided that he really likes her. (Though she is so incredibly redheaded that he's struggling to picture her as a blonde.)  
  
The problem is, Chandler's decided that he  _doesn't_  like pretty much everyone else in the cast. Rob who plays Callahan is the biggest diva he's met since high school, and refuses to socialize with the rest of them at all. Most of the girls who are Delta Nus appear to have slept with most of the boys who are law students, but then again so has Kiki the Colorist, and that's a catty drama clusterfuck that even Chandler at his gossipiest won't set foot in. Warner is unbelievably stupid, Emmett is the least convincing straight male lead since Chandler himself played Seymour Krelborn, and Enid is straight-up  _terrifying_. The only people he's dared approach so far are Melanie, the relative sweetheart who plays Paulette, and their Vivienne, Liz, who aside from potentially being fuckbuddies with Enid/Santana seems mostly sane.  
  
And then there's Nikos.  
  
The mysterious Adam Crawford is even prettier in person and Chandler kind of wants to scream. He's got cute little teeth and cute little dimples and broad, sculpted shoulders that are definitely  _not_  cute or little and sweet mother of Tyra Banks, Chandler  _knows_  it's a completely stupid idea to be crushing on his on-stage love interest, but canst thou blame him for looking?   
  
(And listening. Because - the  _accent_.)  
  
Jesse snaps his fingers in irritation, which in itself is irritating, and everyone's attention reluctantly returns to him at the piano. " _People_ , moving on! Number nineteen in your scores!"  
  
Chandler shoots a look over in Adam's direction, and finds him grinning back. It's  _delightful_. He's not even actually in this song singing-wise but he's so excited already, Chandler can't stand it.  
  
The principle vocals handle their parts easily, though Brooke still sounds way too much like a chainsmoker to pass as an empress of fitness and health, and the chorus muddles through their section without too much of a struggle either since the vocals are pretty much in unison. Chandler's both pleased and displeased about how well it's going; it sounds great but he was hoping to have a bit more time to work himself up to his piece.  
  
"And your first name again is - "  
  
"Nikos," says Adam. Chandler totally doesn't swoon at all, what are you talking about.  
  
"And your boyfriend's name is - "  
  
"Carlos."   
  
"Chuck," Jesse interjects.  
  
"So we are changing it to Chuck, then?" says Adam, tugging a pencing from behind his ear to make a note of it.  
  
"We were never  _not_  changing it to Chuck," says Jesse, pulling a handsome but bizarrely contorted face. "Does he  _look_  like a Carlos?"  
  
"I'd like to think I mostly just look like a Chandler," he says, batting his eyelashes for effect. He gets a mixed bag of snickers and unimpressed glares, but Adam is among those chuckling, and he does his best not to put too much significance on that.  
  
"Chuck," Jesse insists. "Start with Emmett again."  
  
"Mr. Argitakos," says Owen, "this  _alleged_  affair with Mrs. Wyndham has been going on for how long?"   
  
"Two years."  
  
"And your first name again is?"  
  
"Nikos."  
  
"And your boyfriend's name is?"  
  
"Chuck."  
  
Beatrice who plays Elle gives a gasp, and the others belatedly follow suit before Adam jumps back in, trying really hard with his Mediterranean accent but adorably missing the mark by just a hair. "No, no, I misunderstand - I thought you say, 'best friend'! Chuck is my  _best friend._ "  
  
"You bastard!" Chandler yelps, and all eyes are on him again. "You lying bastard!"  
  
He's listened to the soundtrack enough that he mostly knows what he's doing, but he still kind of fumbles on some of the weirder notes - his sight-reading is a bit rusty after a semester of nearly nothing but film-focused acting courses. Jesse's pretty unimpressed, pounding out on the piano and dragging them through the song again and again. Chandler can't help but feel a little guilty, since it's partially his fault. Well, him and Emmett/Owen. (But he definitely isn't fumbling because Adam keeps flashing these quiet little grins at him. No way.)  
  
Eventually Jesse shoos the rest of them away so he can move on to  _Legally Blonde_  with Beatrice and Owen. The courtroom ensemble peels off, dance warmups in one corner, more gossipy shit in the other. Chandler forgoes them both in favor of shouldering up to Adam, who also doesn't seem to be joining either group.  
  
"So-o," he says, with his cutest flirty smile, rocking a little on the balls of his feet. "Which are you really?"  
  
"Which of what?" says Adam, but Chandler can tell he's fooling, that he knows what he's about to ask.  
  
" _Gay, or European?_ " Chandler trills, up the octave. " _So hard to guarantee -_ "  
  
"I'm from Essex," he interrupts, laughing. "And I'm bi. So a bit of both, I suppose?"  
  
Chandler feels his eyes glittering, hopes it's not too obvious. "Excellent," he says. "I much prefer acting opposite men who at least swing a little bit my way. Some things it just isn't enough to fake it."  
  
"No, quite understandable," says Adam, still smiling. "Honestly, it's bad enough to have to feign attraction when you simply don't like someone as a person, that whole sexual orientation business must be an absolute boar." He glances over at the piano. "Dunno how Owen's doing it."  
  
"He's not," snorts Chandler. The sight at the piano is a little bit embarrassing - Jesse's clearly smitten with Beatrice, but Owen is clearly smitten with Jesse, and Beatrice clearly can't be bothered with either of them.   
  
"Good thing you and I won't be having that problem," says Adam, snapping Chandler back to their conversation immediately because  _whoa hello_ , is he implying that he won't have to  _act_  like he's attracted to Chandler because he's  _really_  -   
  
"With the whole sexual orientation business," he clarifies.  
  
Oh. "Right!" Of course. That.  
  
They sit for a few silent moments that are only, oh, forty to fifty percent awkward, and then Adam reaches into his satchel and pulls out some kind of granola energy bar, which he unwraps and then congenially breaks in half. "Wanna share? These things are great for energy but they taste like mulch, I can never stomach a whole one."  
  
"What a pitch," Chandler laughs, eyeing the proffered bar suspiciously. Adam chuckles and Chandler winks. "Good thing I like what you're selling."  
  
Adam pulls an amused, curious face, eyes crinkling up charmingly and his mouth going crooked, and he takes a bite out of the mulch bar without ever looking away from Chandler's face.  
  
Chandler's insides do something resembling the Bend & Snap.  
  
-xxx-  
  
Allergy season hits full bore near the end of the second week of full-cast rehearsals, which wouldn't be so bad, except for Chandler also gets a  _massive fucking cold._  One or the other, maybe he could handle. As it is, his nose puffs up into this oh-so-adorable cross between a strawberry and a tomato, and also kind of a  _faucet_.  
  
"When I die, bury me with my Baz Luhrmann DVD collection," he whines from within a blanket cocoon.  
  
"I don't get you," says Gavroche, styling his hair at their mirror so it does that  _stupid_  flippy thing he sports so proudly. "How are you, like, dying right now? We're in the heart of the city, what even is making pollen?"  
  
Chandler rolls over and glares at him via the mirror. "Have you ever been allergic to  _anything_?"  
  
"I can't have avocado, you know that," he says, missing the point by about eight flying leaps. Chandler flops back onto his back and grunts pathetically at the ceiling.  
  
"Go to class," he says. Gavroche does, tap shoes clacking obnoxiously in his bag.  
  
The silence and solitude is glorious - for about four minutes, until Chandler's attention-whore extraversion kicks in. He squirms in the bed for a little bit, lamenting his intense post-nasal drip and the throbbing at his temples, and then digs under his pillow for his phone and pulls up Instagram. He takes a fish-eye selfie of his bloated nose and immediately kicks it over to Facebook.  
  
_**Chandler Bing Kiehl >** So go on, here's my head - just hit it with a rock!_  
  
He sighs. Fidgets. Aches to find any position in the bed that's comfortable enough to sit still in for more than five minutes. Wonders if it's been long enough that he can take another benadryl without passing out. (Wonders if passing out would maybe be the best plan at this point.)  
  
Jolts, when his phone buzzes with a new alert.  
  
_Swoons_  when he sees who it is.  
  
_**Adam Crawford**  Did someone Bend&Snap right into you?  
  
**Chandler Bing Kiehl**  Someone called every oak tree this side of Manhattan._  
  
He flicks away from his main feed and over to messaging with just Adam and adds  _it's adorable of u to think of me._  
  
**Adam:**  Oh, don't play this talk-entirely-in-show-quotes game with me, I'm going to fail.  
**Chandler:**  fair. guess i win then~  
**Adam:**  You strike me as the type who likes to win.  
**Chandler:**  i mostly just like to play~~  
  
"How much harder do I have to flirt before you make a real pass at me?!" Chandler shouts to his empty room. His head pounds from the exertion and he instantly regrets it.  
  
**Adam:**  Fair. :)  
**Adam:**  We missed you at blocking yesterday.  
**Chandler:**  yes, well, my presence is irreplaceable  
**Adam:**  Apparently at the end of There Right There Nikos and Chuck are to have a kiss.  
  
Chandler freezes, then sneezes about six times in a row, pitching his dorm-issue bed hard on the linoleum floor, because  _what?!_  
  
**Chandler:**  oh?  
**Adam:**  Nothing outrageous, but.  
**Chandler:**  well.  
  
(He hesitates for all of three seconds.)  
  
**Chandler:**  that IS somethin we'll def need to rehearse  
**Chandler:**  perhaps we could schedule a lil bit of independent practice to catch me up?  
**Adam:**  Perhaps first you should concern yourself with ensuring that your nose doesn't turn into a rutabaga?  
  
Chandler forgets for a second that Adam can't see him and reaches up to softly squash a few fingers against his puffy nose, self-conscious in a way he so rarely feels. He giggles once he realizes his mistake, and the laugh turns into a wet little cough. Oh, it would be so easy just to well and truly  _like_  this guy. But then again, the  _liking_  is always the easy part. It's the way the cookie crumbles later on - the way Chandler can't ever seem to make it past a second or third date - that's the hard and shitty part.  
  
**Chandler:**  is that what u get when u cross a strawberry w a tomato?  
**Adam:**  ...?  
**Chandler:**  lol never mind  
  
Adam doesn't really say anything after that, but it's fine by Chandler. He's feeling a little groggy and disoriented again, and he's probably just going to roll over for a nap. Smiling faintly, he reaches out to his desk for another pill and some more pomegranate juice, and then slips his phone under his pillow again with an alarm to wake him up in time to go get dinner.  
  
It's not until he's almost completely dozed off that Chandler's hit with it: when he suggested extracurricular kissing, Adam hadn't entirely said no.  
  
-xxx-  
  
Chandler's cold-plus-allergies knock him out for almost a week, at least from Legally Blonde rehearsal - he's trying to save his voice and his energy for the things he actually gets grades and credit for, and his classes have been sapping him almost before he can make it back to his dorm. But Saturday is a different story, and if he misses this important half-sitzprobe half-costume fitting day he's going to be beyond screwed, so he arms himself with a half-gallon jug of orange juice and some extra-strength tylenol and braves the bepollened streets to get to the theatre as quickly as he can. (The thought of kissing Adam - even in a stage-kissing capacity - certainly isn't  _not_  a motivational factor, even if the phlegm is making the circumstances a little less than ideal.)  
  
But when he trudges through the doorway into their theatre space to find the entire cast  _and_  most of the crew squawking at each other in absolute chaos, Chandler starts to wonder if maybe he shouldn't have just stayed home.  
  
"The fu...."  
  
Jesse reaches him first. " _There_  you are, Carlos! You're four minutes late!  _Four!_ "  
  
"The subway was  _seven_  minutes late," Chandler sasses back, instantly on the defensive. "You should be impressed with how much time I made up, I took like the sketchiest shortcut known to man."  
  
"Yeah, st. James, I thought you were all in favor of sketchy shortcuts considering what you've done to our budget!" yells a woman whom Chandler vaguely recognizes as the production manager and project funder. He thinks she may also own the space. She's maybe a few years younger than his mom and, as far as he can tell, just about the only sane person involved with the entire project.  
  
"I told you, Shelby, I'm saving you  _tons_  here!" he shouts at her.  
  
"Tons that we're going to have to pay right back in a liability suit when someone sues for injuries they got on this  _totally unsafe_  set!" Jesse rounds on her, striding across the space to get in her face (or as close as he can, Chandler revises with a laugh; she's got several inches on him), and Chandler's gonna make a break for it, scanning quickly around in search of Adam, when he's approached again, this time by their small, flighty costume designer.  
  
"Did he just call you Carlos?" she wails, fidgeting with her hands and looking near tears. "I've done my whole design schema with you as Chuck! If it's supposed to have Spanish influence after all I'm going to have to go back and rework the whole thi--"  
  
"Marjory!" Callahan - Rob - is on a rampage, and she nearly jumps out of her skin, and ducks behind Chandler as if to hide from him. "I'm not done with you about this herringbone! Are you absolutely  _colorblind_?"  
  
Chandler has to stay between the two of them like he's breaking up a fight between a pair of actual children, as she fearfully backs them up all the way to the piano, where Rob gets sucked up into another argument, this one over who stands where and comes out when during curtain call. Their shouts get louder and louder to compete in volume with Santana and Liz screaming over one of them sleeping with somebody off-limits, and Chandler thinks they might break out into Take Me Or Leave Me at any moment now, so he's pinpointed their drama as the Fight To Watch out of the ten or twelve pinballing all over the open room when - he feels someone tug at his shoelace.  
  
"Chandler," hisses Adam, grinning at him from where he's hidden himself under the piano. Chandler grins back and instantly drops down to join him, cheeks coloring a bit at their proximity in the tight-squeezed space.  
  
"Geez," he says, "I leave you all alone for four days and  _this_  is what happens? You crazy bastards must need me more than I realized."  
  
"Your absence has been starkly evident," says Adam, knocking his knee into Chandler's. Chandler frisks a hand dramatically through his own hair in a  _naturally, naturally_  flip.  
  
"What  _started_  this pandemonium?"   
  
Adam points out across the floor to the baby-pink studded heels of the girl playing Chutney. "Sugar diva'd out on Maurice and started crying when she realized she was actually going to have to appear onstage with atrocious hair, even just as a wig. So then Marjory confronted him about making poor Sugar cry, but she honestly can't handle a confrontation of any sort - and then of course god forbid anyone out-diva Robert, so he sets in about top billing and his placement in the bows. Then Shelby got here and it all began to just...escalate."  
  
"Quickly." Chandler shakes his head faintly at it all. "Ah, the theataah." He raises his half-empty juice jug toward Adam in an ironic toast without even looking at him, eyes still glazing over trying to make sense of the mayhem. Sugar's left their scope of vision from under the piano, but now it appears  _Owen_  is crying.  
  
"The theatre," Adam agrees, returning the toast with his ever-present reusable NYADA water bottle. Their drinks don't connect so much as just the backs of their hands, knuckles rubbing together, Adam's three or four hemp bracelets soft at the edge of Chandler's wrist. They pause there for longer than is normal before Chandler is able to tug away and bury his pleased little smile in a swig of OJ. Unless he's mistaken, that was definitely A Moment. He's having Moments with his charming onstage love interest and they're not even  _on stage_.  
  
"They totally should've cast you as Emmett," he says, as he stares back out at Jesse yelling at Owen. "You'd be so much  _better_ , and then they could move that clown down to Warner and get that absolute  _travesty_  C.J. out of the show altogether - "  
  
Adam's laugh cuts him off. "I would  _not_  be better," he says. "I can't at all sing."  
  
Chandler turns to face him in faux-shock. "Not at all? Dost thou  _jest_? But you graduated from NYADA!"  
  
"Where I studied theatre and dance."  
  
"Then how did you audition for this show?"  
  
"With an empassioned spoken-word performance of Fergie's 'My Humps.' They cast me in the non-singing male role, you'll notice."  
  
Chandler's grin cracks across his face at their collective absurdity, and he shoves playfully at Adam's shoulder. "So theatre, but not music. I can't believe I didn't know this about you."  
  
"Well, there's a lot I haven't learned about you either, Mr. Kiehl," Adam smirks back, nudging Chandler's knee - his  _thigh_ , practically - with the full broad palm of his hand.  
  
Chandler's pretty sure his whole body gives a swooning shiver at that, and he struggles to recover as quickly as possible. "Okay, okay," he says, "on three: name your biggest passion other than the call of the stage." He sees Adam's raised eyebrow with a smartly quirked one of his own. "One, two - social media - "  
  
"Food."  
  
Chandler's other eyebrow joins the first. "A foodie? Ooh la la!"  
  
"I grew up with pretty much just your basic English fare," says Adam. "When I came to the US, in a big city, there were so many different options that I was sort of overwhelmed. It all just rather got away from me after that."  
  
"You're so  _English_ ," Chandler sighs, the overdone dreaminess crammed into it only half-faked.  
  
"Yours doesn't surprise me at all, I'm afraid," says Adam with a laugh. "I don't believe I've ever seen you without your iPhone, and your Twitter moves eerily quickly."  
  
Chandler pales. "You follow me on Twitter?" His brain starts spinning a mile a minute as he desperately tries to recall if he's tweeted anything  _super embarrassing_  about his crush - he doesn't think so, he tries to be vague and as un-incriminating as possible, he has a couple of professional theatre contacts on there - but the very idea is  _mortifying_  -   
  
Adam laughs again. "Don't worry, I haven't paid too much attention. Your deep, dark internet secrets are safe and sound with the four-hundred-odd other people who follow you."  
  
"Don't patronize us!" Chandler huffs, but his smile has yet to falter.  _God_ , he thinks,  _be more stupidly charming, why don't you._  He's tempted to tweet it too, actually, and give this flirty little powwow a kick in the pants, and he sits up a little - as much as he can inside their piano sanctuary - to worm his phone out of his pocket.  
  
Once he resituates himself, he's pleasantly startled to find Adam's face a lot closer to his own. Like, I-can-count-your-precious-blond-eyelashes close. "So I must say, your nose is looking much better today," he says, low and a smidge more tenderly.  
  
"M-must you?" says Chandler, and maybe the tweet isn't necessary after all. "Because I - I believe I was promised a raincheck on some of that act two rehearsal that I missed..."  
  
"Hmm, 'promise' is a strong word," says Adam, voice even lower, body even  _closer_... "Lucky for you, I'm in quite a helpful mood today."  
  
"How generous of you," Chandler breathes. He lowers his eyes very deliberately to Adam's lips, knows that Adam will notice it and revels in it because yes, at last,  _yes_.  
  
Adam's hot little chuckle rumbles through his chest and into Chandler's own. Chandler's reaction - lips dropping the slightest bit open, eyes fluttering shut - is automatic, almost without his brain even noticing. He can feel Adam's warm breath on his jaw and the side of his neck, and his hand lets go of his orange juice to reach and stroke soft, soft through the fine hair creeping out of Adam's hat just behind his ear. This is a soft, seriously sexy first kiss.  
  
Except for - it isn't. Their mouths are less than an inch apart when a loud, cacophonous  _clang_  on the keys jolts the entire piano above them. Chandler jumps in startlement; Adam winces, hunching in on himself, and the end result is his teeth clacking into Chandler's chin and his eyebrow squashing against Chandler's already sensitive nose.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
"Sorry - "  
  
" _Everyone shut up!_ " yells Beatrice, slamming on the piano one more time for good measure. "This show goes up in a week and a half and my hair appointment is scheduled for five-thirty, so if we could all just kindly get our various  _shit_  together and struggle through this sitzprobe, don't you think that'd probably be for the best?!"  
  
A sheepish silence follows, during which Chandler and Adam crawl out from their hiding place (Adam reaches for Chandler's hand to help him up from the floor and they're both smiling like idiots as they grasp hold). By the time they're on their feet Santana has started slow-clapping, and that first sound sort of cracks everybody's tension, soft murmurs breaking out across the space.  
  
"How absolutely absurd is it to have to raincheck a raincheck?" Chandler whines.  
  
"Just think," says Adam, "it's increasing exponentially. A raincheck squared. Who knows what will end up happening now?" He waggles his eyebrows dramatically and Chandler pretends to swoon, back of his hand draped to his forehead, reclining against the piano.  
  
Eventually everyone sort of wrangles themselves into place, with Jesse clapping his hands imperiously as if he's actually the one who's solved all of the problems. "Okay people! The orchestra should be here any minute now, so I need PMS front and center, Elle, other Delta Nus - if you're not in the opening number you can keep rotating back to see Marjory about your costumes, let's get this knocked out!"  
  
"Suppose that's us," says Adam, cocking his head toward the dressing rooms.  
  
"I'll save us some seats," says Chandler, "you go on ahead. And start thinking about the best place to eat within like ten, fifteen minutes of the theatre."  
  
"What for?"  
  
"Because, Mr. Connoisseur," he says, "that's where you're taking me for dinner tomorrow night after tech."  
  
Adam grins. "It's a date."  
  
-xxx-  
  
The sitzprobe disaster effects a couple serious changes in their production, and Chandler just hopes it isn't too late to save the show, since he's been getting a little scared as it is -   
  
At tech the next day, they wait for all of four minutes before determining that the ever-punctual Owen is simply not going to show, and that they're going to have to find a new Emmett. (Shocker of shockers, Chandler can't bring himself to feel too upset about the change.) He flicks his gaze across the space to Adam, questioning, encouraging, but Adam continues to shake his head no. Ultimately, it comes as zero surprise to anyone when Jesse "reluctantly" steps into the role of Emmett himself. It leaves the position of music director open instead, but Shelby shoulders that burden with unmistakable relief. Chandler just feels bad for the newly-blonded Beatrice.  
  
But Owen isn't actually the first casualty of the debacle - Adam returned from his costume fitting the day before with a tale of Marjory finally succumbing to a full-on breakdown, and she left, too, leaving a good third of the costumes unfinished, including Chandler's own. But a fix to that came quickly, too.  
  
"I know a guy," Santana assured them all, smirking at Jesse.  
  
"Oh, yeah!" Shelby had said, catching on.  
  
"No, no, absolutely not," said Jesse. "He hates me even more than you do, you harpy!"  
  
"Oh," said Adam. "Yeah."  
  
Chandler'd given him a face, because, like, who did  _Adam_  know that also knew  _Santana_?  
  
"Oh, he's just a guy I went to NYADA with for a semester or so," he said. "He's how I met Santana, actually. I..." He paused. "I wouldn't call him my ex, per se, we were never really  _together_ , so please, even if we look that way a little, let's not have it be weird? We're still friends, you'll love him. You have a lot in common, actually."  
  
And they do have a lot in common, but it  _does_  get weird, because the new costumer who shows up the next day, Santana and Adam's weirdly mutual friend, Adam's not-really-my-ex, is none other than -  
  
"Kurt  _Hummel_?"  
  
He makes a semi-unreadable face. "Chandler!" he says, voice full of shock. "What a small world!"  
  
"Big Apple isn't quite so big, is it," Chandler teases. "So you made it to NYADA after all, mazel tov!"  
  
"I - thank you," says Kurt, softening slowly. "It didn't exactly go seamlessly, I'm still kind of amazed."  
  
"I'd love to hear all the details!" says Chandler. "Since, you know, you deleted me from your Facebook. And your Twitter. And your phone - "  
  
"I'm - Chandler, I'm sorry," Kurt says, and the solid eye contact they make makes Chandler believe him - he knows a classy-sassy deflect when he sees one, but Kurt looks totally genuine. "We really could have been good friends, but I was going through a rough patch with Bl - with my boyfriend, at the time, and when he found out about our texting - "  
  
"Honey re- _lax_ ," Chandler assures him, winking for good measure. "I knew you had a boyfriend, he was all over your Facebook wall, it was just supposed to be some fun."  
  
"Chandler - "  
  
" _And_ ," he presses on, holding up a finger to keep Kurt quiet, "fun stops being fun when only  _some_  people are having fun and some people are not. Am I not right?"  
  
Kurt smiles. "You made it to NYU after all. Mazel tov."  
  
Chandler smiles back. "Come on, let's go make me a sexy latin lover."  
  
Kurt lets out an almost unattractive frustrated groan, continuing to talk as they walk toward the costume shop-slash-dressing room. "Do not even  _talk_  to me about this Chuck vs. Carlos thing. Jesse st. James is quite possibly the biggest ignoramus I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. And that's counting my stepbrother!"  
  
"Does he not make you just want to  _howl_?" Chandler agrees. "I thought my college roommate was bad, but four weeks of rehearsal with  _him_ and Gavroche is nothing."  
  
"Wait - Gavroche, the psycho NYADA hopeful from Bowling Green?"  
  
Their conversation sparks more and more, and Chandler's heart is warming unexpectedly because it's been ages since he just made a new  _friend_. Usually, girls drive him a little bit crazy, and boys - at least the boys he meets - are more about getting into his pants. The only reason Kurt's trying to get him naked is to fit him into this so-awful-they're-kind-of-amazing pair of gunmetal silver leather jeans.  
  
"They're a little long, but that's not an issue, lord knows I take pants up often enough for Blaine. I figure we have these with denim on top if he decides on Chuck, and then I'm looking into a couple of Spanish-flair options for the Carlos variant but we'll keep the pants the same so it stays as simple as possible - "  
  
But Chandler's stopped listening, his brain catching on one word. "Blaine?" he says, mouth curling in amusement. "You're still with Mr. High School Sweetheart?"  
  
Kurt colors a little, gaze averting to the floor. "We're...we're engaged, actually. He proposed about four months ago."  
  
Chandler's hand flies to his heart. "Aw,  _honey_! That's just about the most precious thing I've ever heard." He sighs wistfully. "I am so sorry I ever caused a disturbance. You're  _so_  lucky to have found The One. I'm lucky if I can find  _some_ one."  
  
"Hey, Chandler?" calls a voice outside the door, and with that accent it can only be one person. He's pretty much all the way back into his plaid skinnies so he calls back, "Come in - ?"  
  
"I was just gonna head down to the vending machine and grab something to munch - act one tech is going nowhere fast. They're still working the lighting effects for 'Serious.'"  
  
"Seriously?" Chandler quips. It's in perfect unison with Kurt making the same joke, and they glance to each other and burst to giggling.  
  
Adam laughs at them. "See, I knew you'd get along. Anyway, d'you want anything?"  
  
"Chex Mix?" Chandler reaches for his wallet, but sometime when his pants were off it must have fallen from the pocket. "Oh - uh, hang on - "  
  
"No worries," says Adam, shaking his head. "I think I can spare one dollar for some overpriced snack food." He ducks back out of the room and Chandler stops scrambling only to find Kurt staring, back and forth between him and the place where Adam used to be. He doesn't say anything, though, just gives one perfect cock of one perfect eyebrow, and Chandler rolls his eyes and gives in, grinning.  
  
"Well he's already taking me to dinner tonight, I thought I'd at least try to save him a little."  
  
Kurt positively  _squeals_ , clapping his hands together and hopping in place a little. And Chandler can't help it - he bounces, too, taking Kurt's hands in his and letting his grin stretch wider in a small, victorious moment of  _how is this my life_?  
  
"This is perfect," Kurt gushes. "I was already coming up with about six ways to matchmake the two of you but you've already -  _oh_ , and he'll like everything about you that he liked about me but you have much more compatible senses of humor, and you both have those same cute little beanie hats - "  
  
"Kurt McFabulous Hummel I am going to stop you right there," says Chandler.  
  
"It's Elizabeth."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Kurt Elizabeth."  
  
" _No matter._ " Chandler takes him by one shoulder and looks him in the eye Very Seriously. "I need two things from you."  
  
"Wow, um, okay."  
  
"First..." He drops the bit. "Instagram! To commemorate our glamorous NYC reunion." Kurt laughs, and together they do model pouts into the lens of Chandler's phone at arm's length. Chandler bounces it across all of his social media platforms, captioned with  _Your photo needs #nofilter when you're rubbing elbows with the sexiest boy of NYADA!_ , and @-tags Kurt in it once he makes sure he's got his handle correct.  
  
(As an afterthought, he follow-up tweets  _Well, sexiest CURRENTLY at NYADA._ )  
  
"What's number two?" asks Kurt, once that's done with.  
  
Chandler takes a deep breath. "Number two is tell me  _everything_."  
  
-xxx-  
  
"I swear he never, ever,  _ever_  swings the other way - "  
  
"More upstage!"  
  
Chander falters and adjusts. "You are so gay - " (He's not.) " - you big parfait - " (He's actually not really much of a dessert guy.) " - you flaming one-man cabaret!" ( _Cabaret_  is one of his favorite shows.)  
  
"I'm straight!"   
  
Chandler flashes him a smirk that's only partially acting. "You were not yesterday." And back downstage - "So if I may, I'm proud to say - he's gay!"  
  
" _And European!_ "  
  
"He's gay!"  
  
" _And European!_ "  
  
"He's  _gaaaaaay_!" Chandler finishes with a flourish, strikes his fabulous pose as directed, and as the chorus follows through Adam/Nikos emerges from the witness stand and crosses down to him -   
  
"Fine, okay, I'm gay!"  
  
" _Hooray!_ "  
  
Aaaand...the kiss.  
  
Chandler panics.  
  
As Adam reaches forward and tugs him up to stage-kiss, it's not that Chandler's not enjoying it, broad palms flat across his back, the spicy-clean smell of Adam's aftershave. But a jolt crackles through him, carrying with it three words -  _not like this_  - and rather than tip up to receive and return the kiss, Chandler opens his mouth up a tiny bit and does his best creepy-child voice right in Adam's ear -   
  
"Kurt told me all of your scary secrets."  
  
Adam bursts out laughing, falling against Chandler's shoulder.  
  
" _Gentlemen_!"  
  
"Sorry, sorry!" says Chandler, but he isn't really sorry at all. Adam's laugh is infectious, and Chandler's cackling, too, swatting back at Adam where he's playfully smacking at Chandler's chest and shoulders.  
  
Santana grunts, irritated. "Can you two just stop flirting like middle-school gaybies and kiss already? I want to get to curtain call before the fucking sun goes down."  
  
Their antics slow, and Adam fixes Chandler with a look - a really serious, contemplative look that Chandler slowly realizes is reflected in his own expression. Adam's eyes appear suddenly fathomless, shining and drawing him in, and well, when she puts it  _that_  way...  
  
"Why not?" whispers Adam, with a glowing little smile.  
  
And so his hands come to hold Chandler's back again, and Chandler cups both hands around Adam's jaw back near his ears, and he angles his head and breathes in hard through his nose and presses in soft and then firm and then -   
  
Kissing.  
  
Kissing is pretty great and kissing Adam - warm, musky, toothy-smiling Adam - is prettier and greater.  
  
What so is  _not_  pretty is the crackle and  _screech_  of feedback produced when over Adam's left ear and Chandler's right, the mouthpieces of their face mics clack together. The jury people furthest downstage wince and Santana swears again, and the kiss is cut, like, heart-breakingly short as Chandler and Adam jump apart to kill the noise.  
  
"Andy!" yells Jesse, up toward the booth. "Check those channels  _please_!" He's got fingers pressed to his temples like he's oh so all-suffering, and he uses his other hand to do some sort of circular flipping thing. "Okay, okay, Nikos and Chuck exit stage right, and then set change to Callahan's office."  
  
Chandler happily exits, far too conscious of the heat of Adam's body following close behind. A wide hand cups Chandler's shoulder in the dark of the wings and he turns, and Adam's tracklight-lit face is inviting, almost pleading - but this time Chandler has to say no.  
  
He shakes his head. "Not like this," he murmurs, an echo of his earlier panic. "Not when we're still Nikos and like, Chuck-los. I want to do it on our own time."  
  
Adam can't seem to argue with that, and so he nods, but he reaches down in the dark to tangle his fingers into Chandler's own, and they stay that way as they wander back into the back-of-house.  
  
(They stay that way for the rest of the tech, really; as they run through their curtain call, with Chutney and the DA and the judge, Chandler's mapping out the knobby veins on the back of Adam's hand. As Jesse's yelling notes at pretty much everybody  _but_  them, Adam's thumb is exploring the webbing between Chandler's thumb and forefinger.  
  
-xxx-

"How did you  _know_  I love Indian food?" Chandler squeals, when Adam guides him to a hole-in-the-wall a couple steps below street level, holding the door open for him like a gentleman and everything. You almost can't see the place from the sidewalk, which in Chandler's experience means everything will be  _extra-delicious_ , and he's already getting way too excited.  
  
"Lucky guess," says Adam. The waiter offers  _"two"_  with his fingers and they nod, and follow him to a table. "And I dunno, I suppose I was in the mood for something a bit spicy."  
  
He flashes Chandler a wicked smile and Chandler returns it, even as his heart is skipping a beat. "Ooh la  _la_ , Mr. Crawford, don't make promises you don't intend to keep."  
  
"I wouldn't dream of it," says Adam, and his voice is much more serious than expected and Chandler could just  _dance_ , yes yes yes.  
  
"So what's best here? You're the expert." He leans in over the table to share a menu with Adam, crowding as close as he can. Adam points out a couple of different options and Chandler hangs on every word, eventually going with his standby favorite of chicken tikka masala. Adam gets the mattar paneer extra hot, and some naan for them to share. His foot comes to rest against Chandler's calf just above his ankle, and Chandler totally lets it.  
  
All in all, it feels more like a third or fourth date than a first one, and Chandler's starting to find that he's got zero problem with that. It's been ages since he's been afforded the opportunity to grow so  _comfortable_  with someone, so familiar after so many hours spent together over the past few weeks. He's not used to this - not used to being wanted, being  _wooed_  with flirty Facebook chats and what is basically the most amazing Indian food he's ever had. Most guys spend two hours with him and decide he's really annoying. His own roommate thinks he's annoying, and they barely do more than sleep in the same room. Chandler so does not live in a universe where charming, sexy, funny British boys take him out to dinner.  
  
And yet here they are.  
  
\- And oh,  _shit_ , Adam's been asking him a question and he's completely just staring into space. Space that is kind of Adam's gorgeous face.  
  
" _Whoa_ , ohmigod, sorry, what were you - wow," he manages. He stuffs another bite of rice in his face to shut himself up.  
  
Adam laughs softly. "I was just trying to ask what you thought of the food."  
  
"Mmm!" says Chandler with his mouth full, and he takes a big sip of water to clear it back out again. "The food is to  _die_  for, oh my god. If I ever doubted your expertise all doubts have been assuaged." He lets his smile go a little dirtier. "I just hope it's not making my breath too terrible."  
  
"I think they've got complimentary mints on the way out if you're  _that_  concerned," Adam whispers conspiratorily, "but between you and me, I don't think it's going to be an issue."  
  
From where Chandler's sitting, that could all too easily be one of those totally misconstrued sitcom lines - Chandler thinks it means "no worries, because I'd kiss you anyway," Adam thinks it means "there were no kissing plans that could even disrupt" - and even though he knows he's overthinking it, his smile falters just a fraction. He stirs his masala sauce around with his rice and takes another bite, anxious to move the conversation along, still half-expecting this to not even be real.  
  
Oh, it moves so freely and wonderfully, though. Chandler talks about when he first met Kurt, which leads to a couple of flirty, spirited debates about both music and fashion. He also delves into his seedier past, about his weird relationship with his older sister after North Lima High had - correctly - pegged her as a total slut and him as a total homo, and ostracized them both. Adam tries to clear the dark mood with some wacky British private school antics, and he's just so goddamn  _English_  that it works, and Chandler's laughing - his real, unattractive laugh, which he swore after Jeremiah to never unleash on a first date again. They stay in the restaurant for hours, lingering over a shared order of mango pudding for dessert.  
  
Adam's been suspiciously mum about his own past with their mutual friend, however, and when he leaves an opportunity wide open for Chandler he can't help but take it.  
  
"So what are all these deep, dark secrets our dear Mr. Hummel has been telling you about me, hmm?" Adam says, pudding spoon loose in his grasp.  
  
Chandler's eyes alight. "well," he murmurs, "apparently you've been  _lying_  to me." He's aiming for faux-scathing but, like usual, he must overshoot a little, because Adam's face falls into a little moue of hurt, until - "About  _singing_! You said you were awful at it - " and Adam's laughing sheepishly now - "but Kurt tells me you two first met when you  _seduced_  him into joining a show choir group that  _you_  founded."  
  
"Now, now, seduced is a very strong word," Adam begins, head down and hand up placatingly.  
  
Chandler interjects. "I think you underestimate how seductive you really are, Mr. Crawford." He takes another bite of what's left of their pudding. "Besides, why would you lie to me about having a talented singing voice? That's such a silly thing to lie about! And I will not allow this relationship to be founded on lies."  
  
(Chandler does not at all miss the way Adam's face brightens and softens at the word "relationship.")  
  
"It's - it's stupid," Adam says, gaze still downcast, running his spoon in circles through the last of the pudding. "It's this dumb thing I do, and I didn't do it when I met Kurt because of the circumstances with the Apples thing - and then for a while I thought, maybe that's  _why_  me and Kurt - no. Er, let me start over,  _not_  talking about our mutual ex-crush."   
  
"By all means."  
  
"Sometimes when I meet someone, and I'm really - interested, in them," he says, and Chandler's heart flutters nicely, "I don't tell them I can sing, at first. That way if I ever have a chance for a perfectly timed serenade, the whole moment is a little more magical. It started as a, a lack-of-self-confidence thing, but then even once I kind'f grew into myself I just did it force of habit. I told you it was stupid."  
  
"That," Chandler agrees, "is the stupidest, sweetest, most romantic and absurd thing I have ever heard." Adam lifts his head, smiling hopefully, and Chandler just grins. "The kind of people you and I are, serenades get thrown around left and right. Hell, my idiot roommate was just serenading a boy last week for complimenting his thrift-store bolero jacket. I think it's so thoughtful of you to save it for a time when it really counts." Chandler feels himself getting too serious and backpedals into rapport. "So now I absolutely  _must_  stick around long enough to get an infamous Adam Crawford serenade all for myself."  
  
"I was...sort of counting on it," Adam says, soft and serious and god he totally missed the rapport memo. But when he's looking right into Chandler's eyes like that, thick and dark and  _soulful_ , Chandler can't quite find it in himself to complain.  
  
"Oh, hang on," says Adam, putting his spoon down and reaching over the table, "you've got pudding just..." He swipes his thumb over the left corner of Chandler's mouth to wipe it off.  
  
Chandler is halfway to tilting his head just slightly to suck the pudding off Adam's thumb, and Adam is halfway to  _letting him_ , when they both suddenly realize it's happening.  
  
Adam jerks his hand back as if burned and instead looks down at his wristwatch. "My god, we've been here for ages, haven't we?"  
  
"Oh, wow, yeah, I hope we're not keeping them from closing - "  
  
"Let's just see about the bill and then we can - "  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
"Great."  
  
"Fabulous.  
  
They both rise from the table and seek out a staff member. Adam insists on getting all of dinner, but Chandler talks him down to at least letting him pay for the pudding, and they each pop a couple of mints on their way out the door.  
  
"This way," Chandler says, a twinge reluctantly, as he points toward the most convenient subway stop. "I just have to take the Q west - "  
  
"Oh, me too, I just - only as far as First." Adam gives an awkward little chuckle. "I was going to walk you home, but I guess - "  
  
"I can be a gentleman too," Chandler teases, but for the first time all night it falls a little flat.  
  
The train ride is more of same. There's nowhere to sit down - it's that time of night - so Chandler and Adam grab onto the overhead bar and stand close, and Chandler can  _feel_  Adam behind him, feel Adam's heat from his arm and his chest seeping into Chandler's shoulderblade like the touch of his thumb glossing against Chandler's mouth. The more the train vibrates the more he starts feeling that they both can feel it, this tense unspoken heat between them, and it makes Chandler want to shatter it because it makes him want to  _scream_.  
  
And he realizes, suddenly, that he's never felt like this before. And it isn't as dramatic as all that, not something  _serious_ , but still something altogether new - and Chandler really, really likes it.  
  
He hums a few of Elle's notes from "Serious" and Adam chuckles behind him, the rumble adding heat and sensuality to the tremble of the train and  _lord_ , that's hot. "I know, me too." Chandler twists his head to look at him, mildly stunned, because is he - does Adam really feel - "This close to opening night just about every song is stuck in my head."  
  
Oh. "Yeah." Of course.  _That._  
  
The train begins to screech to a stop and Adam nods his head toward the doors. "This is me, so, ah."  
  
"Hey, I'm still most definitely walking you up," Chandler says, smiling as best he can through the awkwardness that stubbornly refuses to stop awkwarding all over them. Together they press through the other passengers and disembark, climbing the stairs up to the street slowly and then turning at the corner. Adam holds Chandler's hand again and Chandler can't help swinging them a little as they walk.   
  
Then suddenly they're at Adam's place, a big brick house that's been parceled up into apartments, and Chandler walks up the stoop with him to the door, determined to break the tension even if it kills him.  
  
"I had...an amazing time tonight."  
  
Or, you know, if it brainwashes him into using one of the oldest and most pathetic lines in the book.  
  
Adam takes it all in stride, though. "I could tell," he says - "I've barely seen your phone all night."  
  
"I have been known to livetweet dates," Chandler teases. "But..." He takes both of Adam's hands in both of his, painting them into a rom-com tableau here on Adam's NYC stoop and hey, go big or go home - "But never the really good ones."  
  
"I had a wonderful time too," Adam assures him. His eyes are soft and clear in the low light and he  _means it_ , god it's been so long since anyone meant it with Chandler. He wants to remember this moment for ages.  
  
"Although since you mentioned it." He palms at his pocket for his phone, and switches it to camera. "I could stand to commemorate this. Just one, for my personals?"  
  
"I knew you couldn't resist," laughs Adam. Chandler whirls around and poses them for a smiling double-selfie, makes sure his adorable hat doesn't eclipse Adam's adorable smile.  
  
Unfortunately, Chandler is now buried in the hard plane of Adam's chest and their mouths are closer together than they've been all night and so right when the pretend shutter is going Adam kisses him, well and truly  _kisses him_ , and the phone clatters to the cement steps below them in Chandler's haste to turn and reciprocate.  
  
If their stage kiss from earlier was a spark, this is an absolute  _firework_ , maybe six or seven blasting off at once. Adam's hands curl broad around Chandler's waist just below his ribs, and the warmth they radiate through Chandler's shirt is intoxicating, leaving him even more breathless as he snatches at Adam's shoulders and gasps into his mouth. His tongue between Chandler's lips is firm and confident, so slick and wet and perfect against Chandler's own that he moans, brazenly, right there on the street.  
  
That snaps them back out of it a little. "Are you," Chandler pants, "are you always this forward on the first date?"  
  
"Oh, it's more like a third or fourth date anyway." And Adam dives back against him, trying to keep kissing even as Chandler's crouching down for his phone and Adam's rooting in his pockets for the keys.  
  
They fumble and giggle up to the second floor like teenagers, exploring with hands and mouths as much as they dare without a little privacy. Chandler can't stop his tongue from tracing Adam's teeth, still just as charmingly perfect as Chandler's always thought they were from day one. His digging thumbs are having a similar experience with the tight, hard breadth of Adam's shoulders through his thin plum-colored thermal henley. Adam, meanwhile, seems fixated with Chandler's waist, his hips, the small of his back, broad grabby hands constantly in motion, sliding and sliding while his mouth sucks hard and impatient on Chandler's tongue and lips and sometimes his jaw. Adam tastes like sweetness and spice from dinner and it's actually kind of amazing; Chandler can only hope he tastes the same.  
  
By the time it occurs to either of them to stop and come up for air, Chandler's up against the door to Adam's rooms with his elbows bent, arms flat up around his head, one wrist in Adam's grasp while Adam's other hand stays grabby at his waist and Adam's right knee is creeping up to nudge at the bulge in Chandler's skinny pants and  _oh, oh._  When Adam's mouth pops from his it leaves him dumbfounded, slackjawed, blood rushing in his veins.  
  
"Please don't say no," says Adam, voice low and dangerous against his neck.  
  
"My junk is clean," Chandler blurts, "and my vocab is  _filthy_."  
  
Adam grunts with base need and finally knocks them both back into his place, shoving Chandler's sweater off almost instantly and following immediately with knocking off his hat and twining fingers into Chandler's spiked-messy hair. His grip is strong,  _strong_ , it's like Adam's getting more intense and powerful by the minute and Chandler's head is spinning even trying to think about all the limits he might be able to push that to. He hooks his arms tight around Adam's broad back and gives his hips one long, slow, solid roll into Adam's. The teeth of their zippers scratch together where both of them are tenting out hard.  
  
"Get in the bed," Adam growls.  
  
"I will get in anything you want me to," says Chandler, and he hops backward onto the mattress with a bounce, toeing off his shoes and taking in Adam from this new angle. He looms over Chandler now and he looks powerful, hungry. When neither does anything but stare for a minute in the streetlight-dim of the apartment Chandler can't help but steal a hand down to cup himself just once because he is  _dying here_. Adam Crawford is standing over him dripping pure British sex from every blazing-eyed, tight-muscled inch of him, and Chandler is  _in his bed_.  
  
Adam twists down to yank his own shirt off and then climbs over Chandler like a panther, slotting their bodies together puzzle-piece snug and kissing him again with only half the earlier desperation but almost twice the heat. His teeth hang on Chandler's lower lip, sucking and tugging and tasting, and it's like a mallet to the knee the way it makes Chandler's hands jerk up to touch Adam's skin. Without his elbows to brace him he falls flat onto his back, touching at Adam's back, his thick-rounded biceps and shoulders, the thin tantalizing layer of hair across his chest. God, Chandler can't help but whimper at his aura of power and masculinity, and he's suddenly anxious for Adam to not be the only one getting naked.  
  
"You are  _volcanically_  hot," he whispers, as Adam's hungry teeth move down to his neck. "I want you all  _over_  me, Adam please, touch me, make me come, take me apaa- _ha_..." Adam's latched on right around the dip where his collarbones meet, one of Chandler's perennial weak spots, and his voice dissolves into nothing but wrecked sobs. Adam is  _wrecking_  him.  
  
"Please get naked," Adam says, tugging at the hem of Chandler's scoopneck tee. "And please keep talking." So together they peel off his shirt, and undo Adam's belt, and they split apart just as long as they need to before crawling back together totally nude.  
  
Oh, oh.  _Oh_.  
  
"Your cock oh my god," Chandler gushes. Adam is uncircumcised and possibly bigger than anyone Chandler has ever seen live-in-person and he touches before he can stop himself. "I need this everywhere," he declares, stroking the foreskin up and down and breaking apart at the noise Adam makes, "your cock and your arms and hair and stomach and your  _cock_  please please - " and Adam grabs him by the face and smashes a kiss to his mouth to cut him off.  
  
"Tell me what you want," he insists.  
  
"Adam please - "  
  
"I want  _everything_ ," Adam groans, "so you need to tell me what you want."  
  
Chandler keeps stroking Adam's cock, thumbing the glossy-wet red head of it like he's hypnotized and can't stop. "I want this in me," he says, because god does he  _ever_. "I want it in my mouth but I don't want you to come from it because I need you  _inside_."  
  
Adam pushes up on his knees and encourages Chandler to do the same, and Adam rocks them together so their cocks align, sliding against one another. Chandler makes a noise he doesn't even have a word for, trembling forward, locking his fingers into Adam's so they can stroke their lengths together,  
  
" _Tell me_ ," Adam hisses, breath and mouth on Chandler's ear as Chandler stares down at the slide of their cocks. Adam's stands so  _up_ , hard and rawly male, and Chandler is transfixed, mouth watering, muscles clenching.  
  
"I want to sit on it," he says, voice barely audible.  
  
" _Fuck_ ," says Adam, hips pitching forward.  
  
"I want to sit in your lap and ride you slow and close and  _dirty_ , wanna feel every inch of it till you come in me  _Adam please_ ," Chandler begs, because their grips are slick with their own fluids and the muscles in Chandler's thighs are trembling trying not to fall apart.  
  
Adam fists his spare hand into the sweaty hair at the base of Chandler's skull and tugs, wrenching his neck back to kiss at his throat. That hands slides heavily, almost clumsily down the side of Chandler's neck and collarbone, moving like Adam's pushing through something, until he's thumbing Chandler's nipple and Chandler's eyes are rolling back in his head. Chandler anchors himself on the swell of Adam's bicep, feeling the muscle shift as he keeps up the rhythm of their jerking hands. Their skin is slick with perfect sweat everywhere it's touching, which feels like it's somehow managing to be all of Chandler's most sensitive spots, his throat, his nipple, the crooks of his thighs, the swollen leaking head of his dick.  
  
Adam's pushy hand returns to Chandler's hair, but this time it stays there and this time it does really  _push_ , forcing Chandler to bend at the waist as Adam shuffles back on his knees a little. It's an obvious hint, and one that Chandler's been waiting for - he sighs out " _mm, yeah_ " and wets his lips and flops himself down onto his stomach, feet kicking up around the pillows and cock rutting a little into the mattress. Propped on his elbows, he's eye-level with Adam's own long, thick, glistening  _perfect_  erection, and when Adam sits down on his heels and drops his knees wider apart to give Chandler room, Chandler grins.  
  
"Thank you so much for giving me this," he teases, making a show of licking his lips and wrapping one hand back to cup solid around one hard-muscled cheek of Adam's ass.  
  
Adam's hand, still tangled in Chandler's bordering-on-gross hair, tugs a little harder. "Thank you for taking it," he murmurs back, with a seductively breathless laugh, and he's hitching his hips forward into Chandler's mouth almost before Chandler's managed to take hold of Adam's cock and aim it between his lips.  
  
Once he  _does_  get it between his lips, though, Chandler's so turned on that he almost passes out. Adam's saltier than Chandler was expecting - maybe because of dinner? - and the girth of him with his stretched-back foreskin is so big that Chandler's jaw starts to ache exquisitely almost from the get-go. Truth be told, he almost can't even handle it.  
  
"Oh my god," he moans, pulling off and burying his nose in the hair just above Adam's dick, nuzzling and licking around and petting his thighs and ass. "Adam I can't - " his nose up the crease between Adam's thigh and pelvis - "you're so, it's so - " lapping sloppily at the sides of Adam's shaft - "I've never - "  
  
"Chandler,  _please_ ," says Adam, but it's starting to sound more like an order than a request, and he shoves Chandler back down, thrusting at his slightly-parted lips. Chandler feels cherished and used all at once and it's molten-hot, and he sucks desperately at Adam's cock, timing the bobs of his head with the little pivots of Adam's hips. The weight and slide of Adam's thickness across his tongue is incredible, and he moans messy around him, humming and slurping and shaking. Adam's letting loose some pretty noises of his own, breathy whines and short aborted syllables -  _god - yes - so good_  - as he keeps stuffing the thick fat flesh of his cock down into Chandler's stretched-taut mouth. He tongues a little into the slit and down inside the skin, hollowing his cheeks out and massaging the head between the tongue and the roof of his mouth, pillowed and pliant. Just when he really gets going, left hand kneading the firm muscle of Adam's ass and right hand helping jack Adam intently into his mouth, Adam hisses sharply and yanks his head up.  
  
"Mmm what, you taste so good and you're so  _big_ , let me - "  
  
"Sweetheart, if you still want me to fuck you, you're going to have to stop," says Adam, voice thready. Chandler looks up at him, face and chest flushed and a vein throbbing on the side of his neck, muscles tense and strained. Shit, Chandler hadn't even realized he was close.  _And I did that_ , he realizes, giddy on his own success. He kicks his feet a little and grins, and Adam smiles blissfully back, letting his grabby hand turn soft, a sweet sweaty stroke down the side of Chandler's face.  
  
Adan wheels his legs out from under him and off the side of the bed, sitting up straight. "C'mere," he says, "let's cool off a bit." He tugs on Chandler's shoulders and Chandler follows, sliding up and across till he's sitting sideways across Adam's lap, Adam's hard wet cock still stiff up against the underside of Chandler's thighs. Adam stretches to grab something from under the pillows and then leans back into Chandler, kissing soft and sweet right on his lips. Chandler throws his arms around Adam's neck and kisses back wholeheartedly, pinpointing the exact moment when Adam tastes himself in Chandler's mouth and grinning into it. They trade hushed, sugary kisses like that for several moments, Chandler playing gently with Adam's hair, and Chandler barely even notices what's going on elsewhere until Adam is stroking one cool, slick finger right at the pucker of his entrance.  
  
"Yeah," Chandler breathes, "oh, yes, inside, please." He tries to spread his legs a little more, but sitting perched in Adam's lap with his warm, taut skin everywhere feels so  _good_ , and they manage to make it work. Slowly, firm and insistent but tender, Adam works Chandler's hole open, kissing and cradling the whole time, and Chandler feels entirely cocooned in him, eagerly awaiting each new touch of their skin and sighing gratefully when the touches come. It's downright overwhelming, if Chandler's being honest. No one has ever made him feel like this before.  
  
"Did you mean what you said?" asks Adam, low and dirty like a secret. "About me...coming inside you?"  
  
"I mean what I said when I told you my junk is clean, if that's what you're asking," says Chandler, nipping at Adam's bottom lip. "C'mon," he says, squirming a little, wanting to feel Adam's stiff cock beneath him, "please."  
  
"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Kiehl."  
  
"Trust me when I say there's a lot in this deal for you."  
  
Adam grins, bites Chandler on the ear, and while Chandler is squawking manages to manhandle him into position until they're back-to-front, Chandler still in Adam's lap but facing outward with Adam's chin hooked over his shoulder and his cock nudging up between Chandler's cheeks, slick and huge as ever.  
  
"Are you ready?" Adam asks, voice soft and courteous even as his hips can't quite sit still. "I know - I've been told I'm a bit -   
  
"Fucking huge?" says Chandler, with a breathless laugh and some grinding of his own. " _Please_ , Adam, I've been waiting for this, please, plea -- oh..."  
  
Adam's hand slips down and lines himself up with Chandler's stretched entrance, and Chandler rocks up and forward a little to give him space to work. And then - " _aah_ " - he's  _in_ , and Chandler just keeps sinking down into his lap, letting Adam tug him closer and closer, and just when Chandler thinks he  _must_  be all the way inside by now Adam thrusts up and gives him just a little bit more, until Chandler's fully seated on Adam's cock and Adam's panting desperately in his ear.  
  
"Oh my god," moans Chandler.  
  
"Oh my  _god_ ," Adam agrees.  
  
He's so... _full_. Adam's solid girth is stretching him wide open but he's clenching down on nothing but firm, white-hot flesh, and he can feel Adam's heartbeat against his back and in the throb of his thick cock inside him. If he shifts even the smallest bit it rubs him  _everywhere_  inside, and if he pivots just right, the stretch at his rim burns deliciously and the fat head of Adam's cock gets him -   
  
"Ahh, right there!" Chandler cries.  
  
"Fuck, Chandler - "  
  
He reaches back with his arm to cup Adam's face, twisting his neck so they can kiss, and begins to move, bouncing in the smallest increments, more grinding than anything, just feeling the sweet-hot pressure of Adam against every speck of his inner walls. The pleasure is so smooth-hot-intense that Chandler practically feels like even his  _soul_  is getting fucked. Adam thrusts up in time, and they kiss and sweat and slide, each jab punching little sighs and moans out of Chandler into Adam's mouth. God, he always knew he was vocal, but this is so -  _"ah - "oh!"_  - he couldn't make himself shut up if he tried.  
  
Adam's thrusts grow sloppy, and Chandler realizes he's losing patience - "let's cool off" is long forgotten. His hands anchor hard on Chandler's hips and he bites a little at the juncture of Chandler's neck and shoulder, and whispers, "I've got to  _move_." That's all the warning Chandler gets: seconds later Adam's pushing up hard on his hips and then yanking back down right in time with his own thrust upward. It drives his cock even deeper up into Chandler, something he hadn't thought was even possible at this point, and he pretty much screams.  
  
"Oh,  _fuck_!" His head drops to his chest as he tries to focus on, like, breathing, making sure the best sex of his life isn't also the last. Adam's hot thrusts shear him open again and again, and he's babbling wordlessly into the top of Chandler's spine but Chandler has plenty to say. "Adam, fuck, fuck me, ram me open, so hard, so huge,  _unh_  - stuff me with your big cock, I need it, so deep, please...." Adam behind him takes up a steady stream of  _Chandlerchandlerchandler._  
  
The new angle and rhythm has Chandler's own neglected dick bouncing stiff in his lap, and he finally grasps it and starts to jerk himself, though he's pretty sure he could come from Adam's hard jabs alone. Each heave from Adam slides Chandler's cock right up through his hand, and he's closer, so close -   
  
"Ah - " Adam chokes out, going stiff and still underneath him, and Chandler feels the hot gush of Adam's come as he's overtaken, hands spasming up to touch every part of Chandler he can reach. Chandler whines, he's so wet and so  _full_ , and when Adam's arms wrap around his chest, hips still making tiny little pivots as he rides out his aftershocks, his softening cock sloshing his come around inside of Chandler, Chandler finally gets there too.  
  
" _Adam,_ " he wails, seizing up a little and hunching forward, and Adam strokes his back as he shoots out onto the carpet, some of it landing on his own pants. He doesn't care; he barely even notices. All he's seeing right now is stars.  
  
Adam guides them back and sideways till they're lying across the bed, curled up together with Adam spooned behind Chandler, cock still inside. He pulls out slowly and Chandler feels some of his come leak out too, hears Adam murmuring, "We seem to have made a bit of a mess."  
  
But Chandler's just had the best sex of his life, so he thinks he's entitled to totally pass out after.  
  
-xxx-  
  
Chandler has the same reaction he always does upon first waking up, which is to find his glasses and check his phone. But when he gropes around for both under the pillows, he can't find either, and that's when he begins to realize and remember - this isn't his high-ratcheted dorm bed. His glasses are thankfully on a nearby table; his phone is probably wherever his pants are, which is not on him at all. Because he's naked.  
  
The person he got naked with is not in the bed, and Chandler sits up a little, feeling the soreness in his ass and smiling just a little bit in satisfaction. "Adam?" he calls softly. His voice isn't up to much more - ooh, shit. Their show opens in four days and he's shot his voice screaming during sex. There is no way to explain that to Jesse.  
  
Adam seems to be a step ahead of him, though, because as he's slinking to the floor in search of his phone/pants, he's re-entering from the other room. "Good morning, sweetheart," he says, smiling amusedly. (Good morning is right - Chandler finds his phone and the display reads 3:37. That's what he gets for zonking out at nine-fifteen.) Adam's carrying two glasses of something that smells great, and he passes one to Chandler. "I made some juice, I'm glad that didn't wake you."  
  
"You made some juice," Chandler repeats, blinking at the cup. "Of course. Just casually..."  
  
"I hit the kitchen when I can't sleep," says Adam, his smile turning a little bashful. He takes a sip from his and Chandler follows suit - and moans. It's cool and fruity on his throat, apple and banana and a couple hints of some other things he doesn't usually associate with juice - is that cucumber?  
  
"What's in this?" he says. "And why wasn't I guzzling it down during that miserable allergy attack?"  
  
"I believe that was when we were too busy aggressively flirting with one another to actually do anything about it."  
  
"Touché."  
  
"Apple, banana, a little coconut milk for consistency," he continues. "Some cucumber and a bit of aloe, for the throat."  
  
"A true apothecary."  
  
They're quiet for a moment, bordering on awkward, while they keep drinking and Chandler tries to gather all his clothes (he shoves his hat back on to mask his totally disgusting hair). He's suddenly aware that Adam's at least got boxers on and he's still totally naked; Adam holds his cup while he tugs on his own briefs.  
  
"Do you have like," asks Chandler. "Sloppy jeans? Yoga pants? The comfiest thing you can loan me."  
  
"Sore?" asks Adam, looking entirely too pleased with himself.  
  
"Deliciously," says Chandler. Adam sets both cups on the bedside table and brings back a pair of faded maroon jeans from his dresser. Chandler's waist is a bit narrower but Adam's got way less of a butt, so once he rolls the ankles a couple of times they work just fine.  
  
Unfortunately, the awkwardness descends once more. It's bumming Chandler out because he doesn't  _want_  this to be awkward. The fact that it's awkward makes it feel like a one-night stand, which is the last thing he wants this to be. He'd actually really like for them to be boyfriends. (Even thinking about it brings a little smile to his face, and he has to hide it in his juice.) But they just fell through the door last night already on each other. Chandler didn't even see any of the rest of the apartment.  
  
Well.  
  
"So can I see where the juice magic happens?" he says softly, gesturing a little with his cup.  
  
"Oh! Of course," says Adam. "Though I fear it'll ruin the illusion a bit." He stands, and offers his free hand to Chandler, who takes it, and lets himself be guided out of the bedroom and back into the main space.  
  
The first thing he notices is how much space it actually is, even just for a room and a half (there's a great walk-in closet that casual-dark-tones Adam is  _squandering_ ).  
  
"Roomy," he says.  
  
"Yeah, it's felt a bit excessive ever since Moira died. My dog," Adam elaborates. "This goofy terrier mutt I got when I went through my first bad breakup. Dumb as a post, poor dear, but lively enough to need the space, even though she was already old when I got her."  
  
Chandler's heart melts, just a little. "You miss her."  
  
"She was a good dog."  
  
The second thing is the "kitchen." It's a free-standing island on wheels, a little bit off-center from the middle of the room, with a plastic mat under it like they use for wheeled chairs in big offices. Crammed on the island are tons of miscellaneous appliances - juicer, blender, George Foreman, toaster oven, waffle maker. The cabinet in the island's base is completely occupied by a dark blue mini-fridge.  
  
"They encourage us to use the large communal kitchen on the ground floor," Adam says, "but you'll understand if I find that a bit...inconvenient. It's hard to make juice for your boyfriend if you have to go all the way downstairs."  
  
Chandler  _grins_. "For your boyfriend?"  
  
"Just, you know," says Adam, smiling back. "A hypothetical."  
  
He kisses him, a sweet straight-on smush of lips, and Chandler can taste the juice on both of them, feel them both smiling. He knows he should say something cute, ask about the juice more or make a science joke on the word "hypothetical," and he  _hates_  himself for what he says instead.  
  
"I think I should go."   
  
Adam's face falls. "What? Why?"  
  
Chandler frowns. "I have class first thing in the morning - it's in like five hours, I can't afford to miss it. Plus, I'm on thin enough ice with my dumbass roommate as it is, he'll kill me if I'm out all night with no warning."  
  
"What is he, your mother?"  
  
"He's a snitch and a gossip and a whiny baby, he's the worst." Chandler holds both of Adam's hands in his. "Thank you so much,  _so_  much. For the juice, and for dinner, and for cleaning me up while I was sleeping - "  
  
"Oh, good, I was worried that was creepy."  
  
"I can't wait to do it again, and stay the whole night, next time."  
  
That seems to appease Adam. "Next time."  
  
They kiss again, and Chandler ducks back into the bedroom for his phone and the rest of his clothes. Then they kiss  _again_ , and he heads back out, and back to NYU.  
  
Even the wrath of Gavroche can't spoil tonight.  
  
-xxx-  
  
Opening night goes pretty well. It's a good thing it does, too, because final dress is a fucking disaster.  
  
For starters, none of the stage hands have any idea where the set pieces actually go at any given time. It's not even all that complicated - a couple of free-standing doors and three or four half-rooms on wheels, plus the flat that's Dewey's trailer - but even with the spike-tape it's all over the place. Beatrice is dealing well, but Jesse's about to blow a gasket.  
  
Or, well, not even "about to."  
  
" _HOLD!_ " he yells for the fifteenth time. "Drake! If these  _baboons_  cannot get the set right I swear to god - "  
  
"Should we...help them?" Adam whispers to Chandler, where they're watching from the wings.  
  
"It's not our job," says Chandler. "And if we do it even once, it's going to  _become_  our job, which I would honestly prefer to avoid."  
  
"Touché."  
  
The word flashes Chandler back to Sunday night at Adam's place and his heart clenches. Between school, work, and crazy tech-week rehearsals, they haven't had a minute alone together since then and it's making Chandler a little anxious. Didn't Adam want them to be boyfriends? Why aren't they being so boyfriendy any more?  
  
"The thing about Adam," says Kurt, when Chandler asks him as much, "is that he likes to make 'Big Gestures.'" They're hiding out downstairs in the costume basement to give Ellie space - a featured "beach bunny" dancer in What You Want, she's thrown her knee out bad enough to need an ambulance. "He's probably lying low right now so he won't give away some silly spectacle he's got planned for later."  
  
"Are you sure?" Chandler's still frowning. "I'm just so - I haven't done boyfriends since high school, I don't want this to move too fast for him - if I'm scaring him off - I mean, we jumped in bed on our first date, and I didn't even stay the night - "  
  
"Relax," Kurt insists, patting him hard on the knee. "And if things stay weird,  _talk to him._  Believe me, if I've learned anything from my relationship with Blaine and its fabulous ups and horrible downs, it's that nothing is a substitute for communication."  
  
Chandler smiles wryly at him. "Was I one of the aforementioned downs?"   
  
"Not a horrible one," Kurt says, his own voice teasing a little too. "We just shouted some Whitney Houston songs at each other and promised to make out more often."  
  
"Would that all relationship fights were that easy!"  
  
Jesse's calling for places - they're going to keep rolling without Ellie, on into Harvard Variations, and Chandler should probably find Adam again. But the thing is, Chandler  _can't_  talk to Adam. He may be able to flirt and tease with the ballsiest of them, but when it comes to any kind of serious discussion, his inexperience turns him into a huge chicken. Plus, there's still the lurking reason behind the talk in the first place - what if it's  _not_  serious? What if Adam just wants to be casual, sex-and-dinner boyfriends and Chandler's making it all into a way bigger deal than it actually is?  
  
Chandler tries not to think about the little part of him that thinks he would be really, really hurt if that's all that Adam wants. He tries instead to focus on his upcoming song, making sure his voice is warmed up and ready for whichever half of his split identity will be making an appearance tonight.  
  
(It's Chuck. But the first thing out of Jesse's mouth in notes is " _Carlos!_ ", and from across the stage Adam just rolls his eyes at Chandler, and smiles.)  
  
-xxx-  
  
**from Adam-Nikos:**  Have you seen the playbills yet?  
**to Adam-Nikos:**  no?? omg  
**from Adam-Nikos:**  
  
There's a photo of the H thru N page of the program attached, and when Chandler zooms in on his own bio he sees what Adam's getting at: they have him listed as  _Chandler J. Kiehl (Chuck)_.  
  
**from Adam-Nikos:**  There it is in black and white!  
**to Adam-Nikos:**  see i have not begun 2 fight!! thank god. screw wat st. james says, lets just do chuck every night  
**from Adam-Nikos:**  Your Spanish accent is pretty awful.  
  
He laughs, because it's true, and mostly out of relief. Opening night will have been the end of Carlos. Chuck lives on.  
  
-xxx-  
  
_Adam Crawford (Nikos/Frat Boy)_  is a 2013 graduate of the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts who is excited to be involved in such a fun and energetic production. Other than the stage, his one true passion is food, and he'd like to dedicate his performance to dinner dates everywhere, and to Moira, his own personal Rufus. RIP.  
  
...  
  
_Kurt Hummel (Costume Director)_  is a NYADA sophomore and true devotee of the theatre arts. A proud high school show choir national champion (2012), he is currently employed at Vogue.com and can also be found making fashion waves at hirehummel.net. Love always to Dad and to BDA, his eternal teenage dream. Go Titans!  
  
...  
  
_Chandler J. Kiehl (Chuck)_  currently attends NYU for theatre and film performance. He graduated with honors from North Lima High in Lima, OH and then left for NYC on the next bus! Favorite past performances include Seymour in  _Little Shop of Horrors_  and one of the "Barricade Boys" in _Les Mis_. Follow him everywhere!: twitter.com/iGottaKiehling, facebook.com/mtkiehlimanjaro, videokiehledtheradiostar.tumblr.com  
  
...  
  
_Santana Lopez (Enid/Choreographer)_  hates everyone in the whole show, but she loves them anyway. Except for Jesse, whom she mostly just hates. See her Tue/Thur/Sat nights at Monsoon on 35th (no touching, that's extra). P.S. she really is a lesbian and will be accepting phone numbers after every show. No uglies need apply.   
  
...  
  
_Sugar Grace Motta (Chutney/Beach Bunny)_  is so excited to be onstage with her Auntie Tana for the first time since  _Grease_  in high school! Sugar is studying dance and physical therapy with a focus on performance injuries. Nothing in act II is her real hair!!! www.sugargraceblingbling.com  
  
...  
  
_Jesse st. James (Director/Emmett)_  is proud to continue his directorial experience with his first New York production, after having several times led Carmel High's Vocal Adrenaline to successful show choir national championships. Other credits include but are not limited to local and Off-Broadway productions of  _Assassins_  (Lee Harvey Oswald),  _Rent_  (Roger) and  _Anything Goes_  (Billy Crocker). Deep inside, Jesse is merely a humble performer with a desire to share great art with the world. Do not let his immense talent and rakish good looks deceive you, for he is a simple man who strives to convey truth through the purity of his work. Please enjoy Legally Blonde: the Musical as an extension of this passion.   
  
-xxx-  
  
Saturday night is their third performance, and the only one they manage a sold-out crowd for. Kurt and his fiance are in the audience, as well as their friend Rachel and a couple of friends Adam and Kurt know from their NYADA show choir. Gavroche, whom Chandler invited just to be polite after their mini-tiff when he snuck back in last weekend, is unsurprisingly absent.  
  
" _I never meant to hurt my father!_ " yells Sugar/Chutney. " _I THOUGHT IT WAS BROOKE COMING THROUGH THE DOOR!_ " She gasps at herself, followed by everyone else in the bathroom and all the morons in the audience who've never seen the movie. The first notes of the "OMG" finale kick in and Chandler finally makes himself peel his mouth away from where he and Adam have been sucking face pretty much since they started kissing in character onstage. (Chandler's doubts about his intentions have pretty much been wiped away by now.)  
  
"We should probably -  _mnh_  - probably get into position for curtain call soon," he says, though not with very much conviction.  
  
"We've got ages," says Adam, still nuzzling at his jaw. "Mmm, Chuck - "  
  
Chandler laughs and kisses him one more time before pushing back and putting some distance between them. "I'm serious. The set pieces for the bathroom are coming off, we're going to have to climb through them."  
  
Adam gives a jokey pout, but relents, smoothing out the front of Chandler's shirt where he's rumpled it. His touch against Chandler's chest still thrills him, is still new and sweet enough. "Are you still planning on going out with the lot of them after the show tonight?"   
  
"I am if you are," says Chandler. "I warned that brat Gavroche and everything."  
  
"Good." Adam says it a little more forcefully than Chandler thinks is normal, and he's not sure what to make of it, but then Paulette is already finished with her bit and Elle's about to propose to Emmett and they really do have to get into position now. They collect Chutney along the way, and the rest of their row when the closing number is over, and when they all dash out behind the Delta Nu ensemble and ahead of Elle's parents and Harvard admissions, Kurt's little group gives them a standing ovation.  
  
Yeah, maybe this show's turned out okay after all.  
  
Chandler heads out to greet his adoring public with his head held high - the audience tonight was definitely better than the previous two, and he always gets a huge crowd reaction when he pops out from the house for his number rather than just entering onstage. He gets a couple of crazy, over-the-top compliment gushers, sees two or three girls he knows from school, and has exactly one guy ask for his number, to which he simply says "No thank you," and searches for Adam's hand beside him with his own. Kurt and company exit at the back of the pack, after most everyone else has finally cleared out, and Chandler's anxious to join up with them to finalize their plans for the night when suddenly he notices Rachel acting even more...squirrely than usual. Sure enough, as soon as she and Jesse lay eyes on each other, a veritable glitterbomb of awkward detonates and douses all the rest of them in gold sparkles.  
  
" _No_ ," Kurt says before Jesse's in hearing distance, as if Rachel is a dog. "He is  _not_  invited tonight, and neither are you if you try anything."  
  
"I just want to catch up!" she insists. "And  _Shelby_  is here, come on, Kurt," but he's having none of it, and meanwhile the awkward continues.  
  
"Chandler!" yelps Blaine desperately. "What a great job tonight, I had no idea you had that voice in you!"  
  
"He is quite impressive," Adam cuts in smoothly. "Shame you're not a NYADA boy or we'd have you for the Apples." His Apple friends - they've been introduced as Steffie and J.R. - laugh in agreement.  
  
"Ugh, show choir?" says Chandler. "No offense, but I'd rather die." He knows exactly how unpopular that opinion is with this crowd and loves the ridiculous reactions the statement gets. Even Santana, Liz and Sugar have merged into their blob now and give cries of mock outrage. It looks like this party is really going to start.  
  
"We still on for my club at eleven?" Santana asks, pointing her finger from person to person for confirmation. Everyone answers affirmative, even Rachel, and with some more laughs and praise and little half-conversations, they disperse so the one half of them can change out of costume and back into their street clothes.  
  
In the men's dressing room, away from too many other eyes, Adam yanks Chandler back into his chest for one more lush, longing kiss.  
  
"Unfinished business," he says simply, and winks at Chandler as he starts to strip out of his shirt.  
  
-xxx-  
  
They all hop on the subway together already a little out of control. Chandler feels giddy from the rush of a successful performance combined with the excitement of a night out with friends, and Sugar on his right seems much the same; the enthusiasm is catching, and everyone's energy ping-pongs off one another, building and building. The other passengers are quickly sick of them.  
  
"So Tana's lying there with her wrists still tied to the bed, right, like all spread out, ready to go - "  
  
"Like I'm just  _waitin'_  for it at this point, like, Lizzy, come on."  
  
"And I go to swing the paddle and before it even touches her it just goes  _fyoom!_ " Liz gestures and nearly hits J.R. in the face, and everyone laughs at his startled expression. "The head of it just flies straight off! I mean like, across the room."  
  
"But I can't see her so I have no idea what's going on! I think, like,  _she's_  broken something, and I go 'Liz! Liz!'"  
  
"Like freaking out at me because I'm just staring dumbfounded at the broken paddle, like, did that for real just happen, but she's like - "  
  
"I'm like 'Liz, oh my god, Liz?!'"  
  
"And the old - " Liz can barely talk for laughing by this point, and Chandler's not especially entertained by their lesbian sexcapades but he kind of needs to hear the punchline now - "the old man in the next apartment - "  
  
"He bangs on the wall - "  
  
"He bangs on the wall and goes 'God damnit, Lester, ain't you finished 'er yet?'"  
  
"Like I was saying 'Les'!" Santana's cackling now, too. Other people are laughing a little as well, but Chandler glances over at Adam on his left, and Kurt and Blaine standing over past him, and no one is really laughing all  _that_  much.  
  
Santana finally catches her breath and scowls. "Oh whatever, losers."  
  
"Guess you had to be there," Liz shrugs.  
  
"Invitation respectfully declined," says Kurt, a great totally-judging-you look cast in their direction.  
  
They fall into a couple of little group conversations after that, continuing on toward Monsoon; Adam's engaged Kurt and Blaine in a little discussion of how the Apples are doing since his and Steffie's departure (holding Chandler's hand all the while, though, and sweeping his thumb in a smooth sweet stroke across Chandler's skin), so Chandler falls into a chat with Sugar.  
  
"I'm not sure I know how you connect in this big mess," he says. "High school? Are we really all from Ohio?"  
  
"Yeah!" says Sugar, smiling big. "We were in glee club together. Well, at first I hated glee club because they tried to tell me I couldn't sing which is one hundred percent not true, so me and Santana started our own glee club, but then it wasn't any fun because everyone hated us and there were no boys so we switched back. Well, I guess Santana didn't care about the no boys part."  
  
"I guess not," agrees Chandler.  
  
"Then we all went to nationals together and won!"  
  
" _Because_  of my outstanding solo, might I add," Rachel interjects.  
  
"Rachel, when you have like eight solos a week they stop being outstanding," says Kurt, rolling his eyes, "because the very definition of the word is something that  _stands out_."  
  
"Yeah, Raych, Kurt and Tana and I should get all the solos instead," says Sugar.  
  
"Good girl," laughs Santana, and as they fall into high school bickering again, Chandler just shakes his head, and leans back into Adam at his side, warm bodies pressed close.  
  
"You're awfully quiet tonight," says Adam, knocking Chandler's shoulder with his own. "Something wrong?"  
  
Chandler dares to let himself be a little bit honest. "Maybe?" He picks a little at the upholstery of his seat. "I don't even know, I guess I'm just zonked from the show. Maybe I need some food or something."  
  
"We'll get some at Monsoon," Adam promises, "save your energy." But he looks sweetly, so sweetly right into Chandler's eyes, and then kisses him on the cheek, and Chandler's stomach gives a bonkers little twist and it is so not exhaustion or hunger.  
  
It's a boy. It usually is.  
  
"Hey, bitches, this is us!" shouts Santana, cutting through the chatter, and when their train halts at a station they all finally crowd off in a big, messy pile (Chandler swears he hears an old hispanic woman breath out a profanity and a sigh of relief as they leave). The walk is only a couple of blocks after that, and though it looks pretty much just how Chandler expected from the outside - blue neon sign, blacked-out windows, sketchy alley full of trashbags down the lefthand side - the interior is a pleasant surprise.  
  
Yeah, okay, the back-left corner is a little platform with big cages on either side and a short catwalk-runway down the middle with a pole at the end. But the back-right corner has a much more traditional stage, with even a tiny upright piano wedged onto it, and the bar along the wall looks respectable, the lighting not too shady or too red. And the best part is, there are no skeezy patrons crowding the tables and booths between - the Legally Blonde party of ten are the only people here.  
  
"Don't look so shocked," Santana says, scowling. "We only do the dirty stuff four nights a week."  
  
"Where is everyone?" asks Blaine.  
  
"I bought the place out!" says Sugar. "Just for tonight," she adds when she gets a few stares, Chandler's included. "Daddy didn't mind."  
  
"Who  _are_  you people," he murmurs.  
  
"Ernesto!" Santana's leaning over the bar, hollering toward a door that must lead to some back room or kitchen. " _Ernesto!_  Estamos aquí! Vamos a empezar la fiesta!" Whoever Ernesto is, he shouts back in some more muffled Spanish, and apparently Santana doesn't like his answer - she vaults over the bar, digs around underneath it for a second, and must find what she's looking for because loud, fun music suddenly blares from the in-house sound system.  
  
"All right, children, get your party panties on!"  
  
-xxx-

Everyone, it turns out, has a decent pair of party panties.  
  
Chandler's, for example, are his favorite blue-and-white-striped briefs, which Kurt especially coos over - "so nautical-chic!" - when they all drop trou on a drunken dare around midnight. Santana's are a remarkably tame wine-purple lace. Sugar's got cheetah-print boyshorts, which hilariously match J.R.'s leopard boxers almost identically. Adam is wearing some sinfully clingy black boxer-briefs that are leaving literally nothing to Chandler's imagination, and he's glad he's been drinking a little or his reactions would be much harder to control. Blaine is wearing a thong.  
  
" _No!_ " squeals Kurt, clapping his hands to his face, and he's laughing a little but he doesn't seem very amused. "I told you I  _hate_  those things, oh my god, I thought we finally got rid of them all!"  
  
Blaine pouts a little and opens his mouth as if to protest, but Sugar gets there first. "A Delta Nu would  _never_  sleep with a man in a thong!"   
  
" _I just like to watch him clean the filter!_ " Everyone laughs and cheers, Kurt rolling his eyes before joining in, and when Adam gives a neat little bow in character as Nikos they toast him with what's left of their last round of drinks.  
  
"I like you drunk, I've decided," Adam tells him. "You're even more fun and adorable."  
  
Chandler feels himself blush at the compliment, but he's quick to correct him. "I am  _not_  drunk. When I'm drunk you won't like me at all, I'm whiny and sad. I'm just...fuzzy." He smiles and gives a dramatic flutter of his eyelashes.  
  
"Well, I like you fuzzy, then," says Adam, and for emphasis he reaches out to ruffle Chandler's hair. Chandler giggles - oh, yeah, he's definitely fuzzy if he's  _giggling_.  
  
"And what about you?" he asks. "When you're drunk?"  
  
"Oh, Adam gets all BBC when he's been drinking," interjects Kurt, from the other side of the table they've been sharing with him and Blaine. "He's so  _intellectual_." He puts on a bad, exaggerated British accent. " _No, Kurt, you don't understand, isn't it absolutely brilliant how the inherent conceptualization of_  blah blah blah. Has he told you his French fry theory yet?"   
  
Chandler looks back to Adam. "No, he has not."  
  
Adam sits up a little straighter. He actually has a fry from the basket they ordered in his hand already, and he starts using it to gesture, like he's suddenly a professor of bar food - which, figures Chandler, he may well be. "It's a theory of mine," Adam explains, and he does sound a smidge drunk, but it's very attractive to fuzzy Chandler and he finds himself hanging on every word. "It's this theory, whereby at every establishment such as this, you order a plate of chips and the craziest drink on the menu." He indicates his tall, weird glass, which Chandler took a sip from earlier; it tastes like corn syrup, alcohol, and the faintest hint of something pretending to be grape, and there's some ingredient keeping it arctic-cold even without ice. It's called the Monsoon Season. It's delicious, in an everything-I'm-drinking-is-artificial-and-horrible-for-me kind of way. "The simplest thing, and the most complicated. That's the best way to test the salt of places like this. Plus then if it's awful, at least you're getting hammered. Because these," he finishes, "are some of the worst chips I have ever bloody had." But he pops the sorry-looking potato wedge in his mouth anyway, and laughs.  
  
"Fascinating," says Chandler, and he eats one, too. They are pretty bad. How do you screw up French fries?  
  
"Ooh, are we doing the chips-and-booze hypothesis?" Blaine rejoins them from where he's been dancing up a storm with Rachel, Sugar, and another friend of theirs who arrived about half an hour ago, a guy named Artie who's rocking a wheelchair and some shutter-shades. He plops shamelessly into Kurt's lap, sweaty and flush with excitement and drink, and Kurt scoops him up without even reacting, beyond a great face that says  _I love you, you dork_  that must have taken years to perfect. They look sweet and totally hot together - seriously, they've got enough flawless jawline for like five totally hot guys - and when they fall into coupley whispers and giggles, lost in their own little world, Chandler can't help but sigh.  
  
"What?" says Adam, smiling and curious.  
  
"They're so in  _love_ ," he says wistfully. "It's enough to make you sick if it weren't so... _lovely_."  
  
"Love is lovely," Adam deadpans.  
  
"Shut up, you know what I mean." Chandler sighs again. "I'd love to be in love. I could very well faint from jealousy. Ugh, sorry, whiny and sad, maybe I am getting kind of drunk."  
  
"You could be in love," says Adam, and Chandler's breath  _catches_. His head jerks dizzy-fast from Blaine and Kurt's happy love bubble to his own boyfriend...ish...person, because - because - "I mean. That's. It's absolutely something that could happen to you someday. You could do it yet."  
  
He blinks hard a couple time and his heart rate returns to normal. Ish. "Yeah," he says, trying not to stare. "I - I could do that."  
  
They undergo an awkward silence that is thankfully broken by, well, silence - Steffie, whose iTunes were deemed least objectionable by the crowd as a whole and who's therefore been in charge of the music all night, suddenly cuts the tunes and jumps her tiny self up onto the bar to make an announcement. "Guys!" she yells. "Moe's going to do a song he  _wrote_  for me!"  
  
Moe, a crunchy-granola-type hipster who showed up around the same time as Artie toting an acoustic guitar and in general being That Guy, is Steffie's boyfriend, and he ascends to the little stage with the piano and begins to awkwardly tune. Steffie and J.R. rush up to the front like fangirls at a concert, and Adam rises to move closer, too. He murmurs something like "Oh, perfect."  
  
"What's perfect?" asks Chandler, reaching for his hand.  
  
"Oh," Adam says, "it's - no worries." He grabs at Chandler's hand, too, and squeezes warmly before walking up to the closest table to the stage and awaiting Moe's clumsy serenade.  
  
It's quite clumsy. His guitar never totally ends up in tune, and most of the lyrics just consist of comparing Steffie to various baked goods (though Chandler supposes she is rather cupcake-like). It takes a moment to actually tell once the song is over, but the applause, weak as it is, has barely even finished before Rachel Berry is shouting, "Me next! Ooooh, Blaine Anderson come  _here_ , get on that piano and sing with me - "  
  
"Must you  _always_  steal my fiance's drunken duets?" Kurt catcalls as they climb up to take Moe's place.  
  
"You should've asked first!" Rachel crows back.  
  
"Well I  _would_  if I didn't have - " But he stops himself, and Chandler tries to get a good read on his face but oh, they  _have_  all been drinking. "You know what, fine, whatever. But if you make out with him again I will - "  
  
"Kurt, that was  _one time_ ," Blaine whines, looking genuinely hurt. Artie and Santana laugh, and then Rachel hooks an arm around Blaine's shoulders and starts whispering conspiratorily at him, hashing out their details. He mostly just smiles and nods. Then, as if they've been practicing for at least two weeks, the two of them break out into a seriously flawless rendition of Pink and Nate Ruess's Give Me A Reason - but with Blaine on Pink's lines and Rachel on Nate's. They make it look absolutely effortless and for the first few moments Chandler just kind of  _gapes_.  
  
"Yeah," Kurt says softly, "some people have just  _got it_." He smiles, proud and loving and a twinge sad. "And that sure is my best friend and my fiance." He snorts a little. "If I tried to play piano while I was as drunk as Blaine is right now you'd be lucky to make it out with your eardrums intact."  
  
Chandler has nothing to add, just watches the seamless duet unfold, feels the weight of it settle over the party like a nice blanket. Moe and Steffie are snuggled up together by the stage still, and Santana and Liz are holding hands and swaying along a little; Blaine is singing  _right to_ Kurt. Chandler peers to the front of the room, searching for Adam's eye, and he catches it warm, and kind, and  _lovely_.  
  
Oh, fuck it. Chandler's in love.  
  
Rachel and Blaine finish to rousing applause, and the tonal shift the song has spawned is palpable - the party is winding down, everyone booze-happy and heartwarmed by the lovey vibe in the room. Chandler's even thinking he might want to head out soon, and wondering if there's any chance at all of a Gavroche-free night if he wanted to invite Adam along as well, when he looks up and there's Kurt on the stage, waving everyone's attention forward again.  
  
"Well, that's a tough act to follow," he jokes, and a couple people laugh. "But I guess you're just going to have to try anyway." He reaches down off the stage, and the hand he's taking, the person he's tugging up to join him, is none other than Adam Bloody Crawford.  
  
"Moe has graciously loaned me his guitar," he says, "and Kurt has even more graciously agreed to indulge me in the following bit of ridiculousness. This song is dedicated to the confused-looking gentleman in the back with the nice green tie."  
  
Chandler's fingers steal up to fondle the tie in question as his gaze flicks hopelessly back and forth between guitar-Adam and piano-Kurt. Kurt just catches his eye and mouths  _I told you_.  
  
And as some vaguely familiar opening notes start spilling out, Chandler remembers - Kurt  _did_  tell him.  _The thing about Adam is that he likes to make big gestures,_  Kurt had said.  _He's probably lying low now so he won't give away some big spectacle he's got planned for later._  
  
"You have so many relationships in this life, but only one or two will last," sings Adam, in a lovely silky-clean baritone that cuts Chandler to the absolute quick because oh my god, you guys. "You go through all the pain and strife, then turn your back and it's gone so fast, oh yeah."  
  
" _And it's gone too fast,_ " joins in Kurt, on the high harmony.  
  
Chandler Kiehl is being serenaded with a Big Gesture by a boy, and that Big Gesture is Hanson's MMMBop.  
  
As the others start to realize what song it is, some try to join in, but Adam hisses, "No no no, shhh!" between lines and gets them to shut up, pouring his big-deal emotions into this slow-jam pop cover as if it's the most sincere love ballad ever, and Chandler tears up, actually starts to  _cry_  over  _MMMBop_ , because he's realizing this is exactly what he wanted. He wants love and lunacy and sincerity, wants stupid jokes and gestures, homemade juice and French fry theories, and taking absolutely nothing seriously except the things that are really, truly serious.  
  
"It's a secret no one knows," Adam sings, smiling wide, but Chandler smiles back, because he does know. The secret is out.  
  
Adam loves him, too.  
  
"Awh, I love Hanson," coos Blaine, clapping his hands together soft and flat-handed.  
  
"Yeah," Chandler says faintly, as he tries to remember how to exist.  
  
The performance winds to a close, a short vocals-only breakdown and then the end, and as Adam's singing the final  _say you can but you don't know_ s he descends from the stage and crosses to Chandler, sinking into his seat at their table with the simplest, sweetest smile. Everyone claps, hard. Chandler claps so hard he feels like his palms will split open.  
  
"In case you were wondering," says Adam, "this was my attempt at a perfectly timed serenade."  
  
"I," says Chandler, and it's overwhelming and he  _can't_ , is still trying to jumpstart his heart way too hard to get it to connect to his brain, and he defaults to his gut - "I've never been serenaded with a song that doesn't have real words before."  
  
"Of course it's got words," says Adam, mock-offended. "It goes 'mmmbop, ba-doopa dop ba doo, yeah yeah.'"  
  
"Oh wow, I stand so totally corrected."  
  
"It's a  _metaphor_ ," says Adam loftily, voice slipping into French Fry Theory territory. "The great thing about the metaphysical concept of 'mmmbop' is that you can interpret its meaning in a wide variety of ways."  
  
"And how do you interpret it?" asks Chandler, low and light and teasing, lost again in Adam's eyes. "What does this 'mmmbop' mean to you?"   
  
Adam leans on the table, their faces inching closer. "It's a challenge," he says. "To - never be afraid of something just because you don't know how it's going to turn out in the end. To identify what's most important to you, and cherish it. To seize what you love without fear."   
  
"Awfully heavy for a song written by a bunch of middle schoolers."  
  
"Hey, did you go platinum in primary school? I thought not." Adam grins like a sated cat. "Besides which, have you seen them now?  _Gorgeous_ , all three. What a gene pool."   
  
"I was always more of a Timberlake boy, myself," says Chandler.  
  
"Mm, well it was either this or S Club 7 so I'm afraid you'd have been disappointed either way, you ingrate."  
  
Chandler kisses him, firm and heavy right on the mouth, and it feels like coming home. It feels like straight-up mmmbop, right here in a stripper bar at one a.m. on a Sunday. And somewhere along the line - because they're not escalating things, but they sure haven't  _stopped_  kissing - Chandler forgets they aren't the only people in the whole world, because in an mmmbop they're gone, in an mmmbop they're not there.  
  
Of course, they remind him very vocally, with loud whoops and catcalls and Santana shouting "wanky!" which is  _definitely_  not a real word.  
  
As they finally pull apart, Chandler bites his lip, ten percent bashful and ninety percent because he can still taste Adam and the shitty fries and the Monsoon Season and  _Adam_  on his mouth. Adam sees him do it, and smiles lopsided and dirty. Because  _yeah_. Because the secret is out.  
  
The night drags on until about one-thirty. Santana and Sugar teach everyone the Bend  & Snap, and, no surprise, Blaine is stupidly good at it. Artie and Steffie sing a pretty great version of Feel This Moment, and Chandler thinks maybe J.R. pukes somewhere. But truthfully, after that, not much really matters for the rest of the night. It's already the best time at a party he's ever had.  
  
-xxx-  
  
All too soon they're at Adam's subway stop. Chandler wants  _desperately_  to go to bed with him tonight, but Adam's got an early job interview in the morning and begs the world's worst raincheck.  
  
"This is a big opportunity, I have to knock them dead," he insists, hurt stretching across his face. But then he grins. "And if  _you_  were in my bed..." He slides his hands down the outsides of Chandler's thighs, skating way too close to his ass for Chandler to be okay with not sleeping with him,  _god_  - "I think  _I'd_  be the one who'd be dead in the morning. I'd never manage to get up."  
  
"If by 'get up' you mean  _leave the bed_ ," says Chandler, but with a pout he relents. "Okay, well, on your way then. Don't make me quote Shakespeare at you."  
  
"I'll be thinking of you," Adam promises, and he grabs at his cock through his trousers for a split second as he walks backward onto the platform, winking at Chandler, before the automatic doors slide shut and he's gone.  
  
Chandler takes about seven deep, deep breaths and tries not to scream out of sheer sexual frustration. It's hopeless; he texts Adam almost immediately after they part.  
  
**to Adam-Nikos:**  do u have any idea how hard it is to masturbate when u have a roommate?  
**to Adam-Nikos:**  its VERY HARD.  
  
**from Adam-Nikos:**  I'll bet it is. ;)  
  
**to Adam-Nikos:**  U R ON THIN ICE, POOL BOY  
**to Adam-Nikos:**  (also, is it too totes tacky that u left less than a min ago and im already texting? i dont want to be ~that guy~)  
  
**from Adam-Nikos:**  (No, no, it's endearing. I've dated plenty enough people who tried far, far too hard to "be cool" at the expense of real sweetness and connection.)  
**from Adam-Nikos:**  You'll never be That Guy unless our next show after LBtM is Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson.  
  
**to Adam-Nikos:**  oh lawd, me as aj? maybe if i gained 10 lb of muscle and spontaneously became a tenor I  
  
**from Adam-Nikos:**  you in an A-shirt and an earpiece mic, sweating and angry and all bloodied up...  
**from Adam-Nikos:**  Blimey, I love not having a roommate.  
  
**to Adam-Nikos:**  ADAM IDK CRAWFORD I SWEAR TO ELLE WOODS --  
  
But that last one doesn't go through - Chandler's lost his little window of service at the busy stop following Adam's, and the conversation's cut short. (Probably for the goddamn best, that absolute minx.) Chandler defaults to his automatic muscle memory of "I can't text, let's get on Facebook" before he can stop himself, but of course that's no good either, so he fidgets with some settings instead, changes his contact from "Adam-Nikos" to just "Adam ♥ Crawford."  
  
"There, that's better," he murmurs to himself, and when the train hits his stop and he disembarks, he doesn't even resend the canceled text. He can't even be  _pretend_ -mad at Adam. Not after tonight. Not after falling in love.  
  
Oh god, he keeps  _thinking_  about it. Chandler can't believe that a week ago, he was honestly worried that they weren't on the same page. Because when had Adam ever done anything to indicate they weren't? He feels like he can just remember every sweet or spicy word they've ever exchanged in vivid detail, Adam fixing his hair before their scene or laughing at his jokes or making him freaking juice in the middle of the night. Things no one has ever done for Chandler before in his life, and all of them rolling off Adam as naturally as breathing - and maybe that's why he's had such a hard time processing it all. He's not used to anyone treating him like the star he's always believed himself to be. And he's definitely not used to there being a boy he really wants to be that star  _for_ , or at least no one who appreciates it.  
  
"Oooh, I'm a  _star,_  and the audience loves me," Chandler sings, as he strolls up through campus back to his dorm room and flips through Sugar's Facebook photos of the night, trying to decide which ones he's going to allow himself to remain tagged in. "And I love them. And they  _looove_ me for loving them and I  _looove_  them for loving me." In that moment, staring at a picture of Adam  _staring_  at him during his Hanson performance, Chandler honestly believes he could be content spending the rest of his life performing for the love and pleasure of an audience of one.  
  
He leans against the wall just outside his door in a mild swoon, and tweets,  _He's my audience of one. (And that's showbiz.... Kid. ♥)_  Satisfied in the most blissful kind of way, even as his rum shots and vodka cranberries are sliding out of his system, he slips his phone back into his pocket and tugs his key out instead, carding into his room.  
  
"What. The  _fuck_ ," he announces loudly.  
  
He flicks on the garish overhead light, not even caring whom it might upset. It's not like he has any sympathy for Gavroche at the moment. And he has even less sympathy for the sloppy-looking, well-muscled Asian guy who is currently also in the room, whom Chandler recognizes (as he sits up and blinks stupidly) as the guy Gavroche has been courting for a couple weeks and who has apparently decided it is okay to be  _sleeping in Chandler's bed._  
  
"Gav- _roach,_ " he continues when his roommate doesn't quite wake, and he's suddenly excited to be wearing his favorite boots because he  _stomps_  to his bedside.  
  
"Sch...anler?" he mumbles as he peels his face off the pillow.  
  
"Yes, very good,  _Chandler_. You know, the other person who  _actually lives in this room!_ "  
  
"What's wr - oh," says Gavroche, as he jolts all the way awake. "Oh, no, no, no, I thought - "  
  
"You thought what? That your karate beefcake boy-toy could just snooze in my bed in his  _underwear_  all night and I'd be perfectly fine with that?!"  
  
"Um, I play lacrosse."  
  
" _No,_ " Chandler warns him, flinging a shut-your-mouth hand gesture over his shoulder, his attention still focused on Gavroche. "Why? Like, just fucking... _why_? Did you guys have sex?"  
  
"...yes," Gavroche admits softly.   
  
"In here?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"On your bed?"  
  
" _Yes -_  "  
  
"Then why the fuck are you not just both sleeping in your fucking bed?!" Chandler can't remember the last time he swore this much that wasn't sex- or like, suddenly-stubbed-toe-related. He usually prides himself on having a more vibrant vocabulary. But he'll be fucked if this isn't the most  _bullshit_  thing Gavroche has ever pulled on him in almost a year of abominable cohabitation (ooh, there).  
  
"We didn't fit!" Gavroche finally blabs. "My legs are nearly too long for the damn dorm beds anyway, you know that, and Jun is a big guy - there was no way for us to squeeze in without being too tense to even think about sleeping - "  
  
"Then give him the floor! Steal the cushions from the sofa in the lounge! Oh my  _god_  this is  _my bed_  - "  
  
"I was going to wash the sheets in the morning!" he swears. "Along with mine - we thought you were going to be out all night with  _your_  boy-toy, okay?"  
  
Chandler seethes. "Adam is my  _boyfriend_. My  _serious_  boyfriend. You say another word against him and I will do something I have never done before and punch someone in the mouth." He gives Gavroche a beat, then ratchets back down a notch, trying to slow his breathing. "You two have five minutes to get him and all signs of your rendezvous the fuck out of here. Then you may as well go back to sleep because I still have a matinee tomorrow and the continuation of this conversation is second only to not fucking that up." He rubs at his eyes, wishing he didn't have his contacts in, and then can't take it any more and shouts " _Out!_ " again before leaving the room with a slam of the door. He skulks out into the lounge and flops into a chair, hanging his head in his hands with his elbows braced on his knees.  
  
"What the  _fuck_ ," he murmurs again for good measure.  
  
This is just like Gavroche. And, yet, somehow more  _preposterous_  than anything his idiot roommate has managed to do so far. Chandler's heard some dorm life horror stories, but he's never quite believed they were  _real_ , that anyone could be that  _stupidly_  disrespectful of another person's space and belongings. This must legitimately be one for the books.  
  
And as Chandler's memory flicks back just mere moments, he gives himself a miserable pity laugh. Because not fifteen minutes ago, he was singing Chicago tunes to himself and tweeting his love and infatuation for anyone to see. He went from having the best night of his life to being so furiously dumbstruck that his head is reeling.  
  
Well, perhaps one good thing may come out of this disaster: Chandler's definitely not sleeping in that room tonight, and so he tugs his phone out and calls the one person whose bed he'd much rather be in.  
  
"Chandler darling, what's - " Adam answers before he cuts in.  
  
"Gavroche did the absolute stupidest thing he's ever done," rages Chandler, giving him the abbreviated version of the horror and trying not to just sob in frustration. "I can't do this tonight, I just - I'm so sorry, I know you have that big interview in the morning - "  
  
"Oh - yeah, no, don't - it's all right if you need to talk, I'm here - "  
  
"No but...is it at  _all_  possible for me to come stay?"  
  
"Chandler - "  
  
"We don't have to do anything,  _anything_ , obviously, I'll sleep in the other room if you want, I just - "  
  
"Sweetheart," says Adam, and it cuts right through Chandler, because he can already tell what the answer is going to be. "I'm so sorry about everything, I can't believe anyone would disrespect you so - but - I just, I can't." It sounds like it physically pains him to say it, which is a small reassurance to Chandler at the very least. "I want to help, any way I can, but that's the one way that I just can't, tonight. No, oh, Chandler, don't cry - "  
  
Oh, oh no. Chandler  _is_  crying, isn't he. He's just so  _fed up,_  with his stupid roommate ruining everything and the last glimmers of weirdness between him and Adam, and more than anything he just wants to be  _held_  and he's just been told that isn't an option. And on top of it all he's kind of starting to get a hangover, and he's sure Juicemaster Adam knows some kind of magic cure for it and he can't have that, either, and oh god tonight just  _sucks_. Even after - probably  _because of_  - how wonderful it was earlier.  
  
He refuses to let it end on such a pitiful note.  
  
There's a shitty blanket on the back of the lounge sofa, and Chandler crawls over to it and tugs it onto himself, curling up on the sofa and worming his boots off his feet. He strips down to his pants and undershirt and cradles the phone next to his head.  
  
"You can help by singing me to sleep," he says petulantly, and Adam chuckles, soft and apologetic and hurt. Chandler can't stand how beautiful it is.  
  
"I can do that," he agrees. "Hmm... _keep it positive, as you slap him to the floor..._ "  
  
"Oh my god - "  
  
" _Keep it positive, as you pull his hair and call him whore!_ "  
  
"I can't believe you!"  
  
"Hey, I'm trying to cheer you up!"  
  
It's working, but Chandler won't dare admit it. He just stays quiet and lets Adam move on to something less silly, which turns out to be another Hanson song, Thinking Of You. Chandler lets it lull him, and tries not to focus too much on how he's thinking of Adam, too.  
  
Tries not to dwell on his old doubts, and Gavroche's stabbing implications, and this latest heart-breaking piece of weirdness that's keeping him and his boyfriend apart.  
  
-xxx-  
  
"I can't believe the show's almost over."  
  
"Yeah, well, believe it," Chandler says to Ryan, who plays Padamadan. "Since lord knows it's not like st. James has the money to do it for more than four performances anyway."  
  
"Watch your mouth, Bing!" Jesse snaps from the other side of the dressing room.  
  
Ryan laughs a little, then catches himself when Chandler doesn't. "Sorry, I'm sorry, do you get that a lot?"   
  
Chandler sighs and lets up a little. It's not Ryan's fault he's in a sour mood. "It's worse for my sister," he says. "Her name is Buffy."  
  
Ryan laughs again, a little too purposefully, and Chandler does his best to smile back, because Ryan is a good guy, and he can tell what he's doing - he doesn't know what's up with Chandler, but he knows  _something's_  up, and he's doing what he can to cheer him out of it. The problem is, Chandler himself barely even knows what's up. At least part of it is trying to do a matinee after getting the least sleep he's gotten in months, but this is more than just exhaustion. Because part of  _why_  he got no sleep was that his brain wouldn't turn off, and it's barely calmed down since.  
  
Struggle number one: he's still pissed at Gavroche. They had another conversation this morning - less shouty than the first, not least of all because Chandler's hangover had surged up with a vengeance, but still just as furious - and while they've both agreed they cannot continue to live with one another, they've also both agreed that it would be stupid to switch out somewhere this close to spring break, and they're going to suck it up for another week. The prospect does not thrill him, even with Gavroche's pathetic reassurances that Jun will never set foot in their shared space again. What a little shit.  
  
Struggle number two: see "hangover surged up with a vengeance." And struggle number three: Adam is lying to him.  
  
Oh, Adam was nothing but kind to him last night. Adam was  _more_  than kind last night, he was practically some kind of James Marsden Disney prince. So that makes the one glaring incongruity even more glaring and incongruous: Why wouldn't Adam let Chandler come over last night, not even in the height of his crisis? And why would he be so desperate to keep Chandler away that he would  _lie_  about it? Chandler almost hates himself for thinking it, for doubting him, but he pretty much knows he's right: the first time Adam deflected with that excuse about the job interview had been a suspicious bummer, but the way he clung to it even in their miserable phonecall - which he answered promptly and clearly, not at all like Chandler had awakened him from his so-called much-needed sleep - smacks loudly of  _doth protest too much._  Even today they've not been speaking, Adam sweetly but guiltily smiling and avoiding him. Something worth lying about like this has to be a pretty big-deal something, but Chandler has no  _freaking_  idea  _what_ , and his mind - and emotions - will probably be reeling out of control until he does.   
  
And yet, Chandler can't find it in himself to doubt, even though he knows he should. He's much too smart for that rom-com farcical crap where the one person lies to the other and the other immediately assumes the worst, cheating or drugs or some other kind of miserable surprise, and acts on those assumptions, and ruins everything - and Adam is much too smart to be that person. Frustratingly, that adds yet another layer of _but why??_  to the pile of crap in Chandler's brain.  
  
And yet, in the meantime, he's still in love with Adam and wants to touch him  _always_  and has to  _kiss him_  in -   
  
Oh, shit, he can hear Elle's cell phone ring tapped out cutesily on the piano. So in about six minutes.  
  
Chandler checks his hair and makeup in the mirror, and tugs on his denim button-up to try to get it to lay flat. It's usually not a problem, but after last night - when Jesse apparently had a freakout of epic st. James proportions on Adam, insisting  _Carlos! CARLOS!_ , Chandler's afraid he might cave on their Chuck-only plan and so he's got his flamenco top on, too, underneath the denim, just in case. There's no help for it, though, so he flashes Ryan a sad little smile and slips out of the dressing room, creeping around to where backstage connects with the lobby so he can in turn creep into the house and do his outraged boyfriend bit.  
  
Only he's creeping past the bathrooms right as someone's coming out, and Chandler runs right into -   
  
"Kurt!"  
  
"Oh, hello, what perfect timing."  
  
"So nice of you to be here again, oh my gosh, I figured you'd just come the once."  
  
"Well," says Kurt, "Blaine's still sleeping off his hangover - " (Chandler's temples throb in jealousy) - "so our other plans were kind of a bust. Besides, someone's gotta liven up this sad matinee audience."  
  
"Tell me about it." Chandler smiles genuinely for the first time all day - and then that reminds him why he hasn't been smiling, and his frown returns. "Hey, Kurt, can I ask you something, about..."  
  
"About what?"  
  
"About Adam?"   
  
Kurt freezes, but then, on an exhale, a slow, kind smile stretches onto his face. "You know, not right this second," he says, as if  _that's_  not a hella weird answer to give. "Can't have you missing your big entrance!" He gives Chandler a soft, lighthearted shove toward the door to the stage-right aisle, then slips around him to the stage-left one to head back to his seat. Chandler's frown, along with his confusion, deepens, but he give himself a little shake and tries to get his show face on. Chuck-los, final lap.  
  
"Actually, Chandler," Kurt says from across the way, and Chandler startles, and turns.  
  
"W...what?"  
  
"Adam?  _Trust him_ ," says Kurt. "That's my answer."  
  
Chandler sighs. "Do they teach classes on  _being cryptic as fuck_  at NYADA, or what?"  
  
He sneaks in, leaving Kurt to do the same.  
  
The audience is about three-quarters full. Chandler never would have thought there were even that many of them with how little crowd reaction he's been able to hear from backstage. He sighs, timing it right during the big " _gay or Euro--!_ " so that no one hears. It really is one of the shittiest little theatres he's ever seen. And yet he's kind of come to love the godforsaken place.  
  
"Gimme a chance to crack this guy - I've an idea I'd like to try," Jesse singsongs. Chandler mouths along with the whole scene, he can't help it (it helps take his mind off Adam's - and apparently Kurt's - secrets, keeps his head in the game), and tugs the buttons on his denim shirt open about halfway down. Chuck or Carlos? Chuck or Carlos?  
  
"Mr. Argitakos, this  _alleged_  affair with Mrs. Wyndham has been going on for how long?"  
  
"Two years," says Adam, full of wonderful swagger and that adorable not-quite-there accent. Ugh, Chandler's stupid beating heart.  
  
"And your first name again is - "  
  
"Nikos."  
  
Shaking his head, mouthing along -   
  
"And your boyfriend's name is - "  
  
Hands tense on the open flaps of the shirt -   
  
"Chandler."  
  
His hands fall dumbstruck to his sides and his breath hitches so hard he nearly misses his cue a line and a half later. He's seeing stars and bright sparkles behind his eyes, and he is so, so in love that he kind of can't  _stand_  it any more and he just listens to Kurt, and  _trusts him_ , no matter how infuriating he's being. Conveniently his first lines are not very contradictory of that emotion.  
  
"You  _bastard_ ," he cries, with more conviction than ever, as he storms a few steps down the aisle and slowly but surely every head whips around to see. "You lying  _bastard_! Okay, that's  _it_ , I'm not covering for you  _aaany_  more. People, people!" he shouts, snapping his fingers - "I have a  _big_  announcement to make...."  
  
If Chandler's emotions were wacko before, he has no earthly idea how to describe the way he's feeling now. It's oddly freeing, because by being labeled  _Chandler_  in the actual context of the scene he almost feels like he doesn't even have to act, can just give the song whatever he wants because on a technicality he is playing himself. Unfortunately, he's also so totally crazily overwhelmed that he kind of defaults back to autopilot and flies through his Z-snaps and choreographed posing almost without thinking. And also, Adam - not Nikos, hell no, that was  _Adam_  - just reaffirmed their boyfriend-ness in front of a whole (or well, three-quarters of a) theatre of people, and his heart is about to explode out of his half-denim half-flamenco chest, so, you know, there's that.  
  
"Fine, okay, I'm gay," Adam-Nikos admits, as Chandler helps him from his chair in the witness stand with a daintily proffered hand.  
  
" _Hooraaaaaaaayy!_ "  
  
"Oh fuck," Chandler breathes, because here comes the kiss.  
  
And it's Adam, not Nikos,  _hell no_. It's Adam whose kiss across Chandler's mouth is so electric, so pit-of-stomach deep, bone-marrow deep, that Chandler's eyes roll back in his head and he very nearly swoons to death. Adam kisses him so longingly and with such hot, dark, picturesque intent - like an X-rated storybook fairytale - that Chandler's knees are actually starting to give, and to keep from falling flat on the floor he pushes on Adam's shoulders and vaults his legs up to wrap tight around his waist, clutching with all he has in him. Adam's hands are instantly snug and supportive right under his ass, and the kiss never cools or slackens or breaks, not even as he walks them offstage, in the midst of thunderous applause.  
  
They're  _still_  kissing, tongues and lips and nasally little whimpers, Chandler's hands in Adam's spray-crusty hair, as Adam backs them into the wall of the darkened wings and knocks what's left of the air out of him. They're still kissing until Adam pulls softly away, petting Chandler's face, and murmurs, "Move in with me."  
  
Chandler's brain feels as numb and blissfully fuzzy as his mouth but he snaps out of that  _right_  quick. "Ohmigod  _what?_ "  
  
"Move in," says Adam. "With me. You hate your roommate and I'm lonely and pathetic without my dog. And I'm - " he breathes heavily - "I'm sort'f in love with you, and I'd just feel a little better about that if I could wake up next to you every morning."  
  
"Adam..." Chandler is totally crying. He can't make his mouth say other words, which is the biggest proof of all how crazy this is. "Adam."  
  
"I've been kind of setting it up for a few days now and I'll feel quite ridiculous if you say no, what with all the help Blaine and Kurt have been giving me redecorating."  
  
"Adam - "  
  
"You can't imagine how horrible I felt last night, being so awful to you as to not spoil the surprise, but I was already mostly done and there were still some finishing touches bits I had to do - "  
  
" _Adam_!"  
  
"Don't make me say 'pretty please' - "  
  
"Shut the fuck up  _yes!_ " Chandler finally gushes. "Yes, yes, yes, I want to live with you so much, goddamnit Kurt, goddamnit,  _Adam_ , please keep kissing me - "  
  
So he does. And they do, pretty much up until curtain call, because Chandler's fever of confusion has finally broken, and now he understands exactly what emotion he's feeling.  
  
He's feeling pretty much perfect.  
  
-xxx-  
  
"Okay, open."  
  
Adam slips the coarse soft warmth of his hand back from where it's been covering Chandler's eyes and Chandler blinks them into focus, looking around at the apartment that used to just be Adam's and is now Adam's-and-his. Then he blinks some more, to try to stave off the tears.  
  
"Oh my god...."  
  
The main room has been painted, one side a warm, rich, earthy red-brown that screams Adam Crawford, which then shifts through a smooth gradient transition to a more vibrant, purpler shade of crimson that is so exactly a shade that's been catching Chandler's eye lately, on the other side. The window sort of splits the two. Most of Adam's things have been reorganized and shifted to the Adam-color side, though the island kitchen rests where it always has, and the Chandler-color side is mostly empty, making room for his own things to come over in the move. There are new curtains in the window and a new oblong rug across the floor. Chandler can already see exactly where his favorite gross-chic armchair will go, what pictures he will hang on the wall. And even Adam's hand over his eyes hadn't been able to hide the  _smell_  - something incredible, Chandler thinks probably chili, has been stewing in the crockpot while they've been finishing the run of the show, and there's a beautiful loaf of bread next to it too, taller than it is wide and pure crusty-white on the inside, the top studded with tiny healthy-looking seeds.  
  
"The best artisan bread this side of the river," Adam testifies, when he sees him staring. Chandler suddenly remembers he's there, that this is for  _them_ , and whirls around to look at him again, still just sort of  _staring_  like he has been at the room. Because for Chandler - no-third-date Chandler, over-obnoxious Chandler, North Lima High Chandler, this is nearly too stunning to be real. For once in his life, he's just about too astonished to speak.  
  
Somehow he can still sing, though. " _But you need to see me in a brand new domain,_ " he hums, eyes glittering.  
  
" _Well it's plain,_ " takes up Adam, " _Chandler - in a different setting, you will see you're getting -_ " He gestures around to the place, a gesture that sweeps around and then back to encompass himself, too.   
  
"All of this," Chandler cuts in, "plus..."  
  
He surges forward and kisses Adam right on the mouth, because if singing is easier than talking, this is easier still. Because if the apartment is too stunning to be real, the apartment  _plus Adam_  has got to be something out of a dream, one of those where Chandler ate too many of Buffy's pot brownies and fell asleep watching Reese Witherspoon and Luke Wilson fall in love at a murder trial. And he hates those, and needs so desperately to know that he's awake. And this sounded like a better alternative than pinching.  
  
He makes himself pull away, though it's with a soft smack and a slow reluctance, when his stomach gives a little churn. "Dinner first," he says, "and then...give me a tour of the new-and-improved bedroom?" He nudges his knee in a slow slide along the front of Adam's leg, and Adam's smile turns sly, the next kiss naughtier.  
  
"Of course, love," he says.  
  
The word startles Chandler, shocks him into remembering back the half hour it takes to hear -  _I'm sort'f in love with you._  He's been so overwhelmed by the whole thing that he didn't even say it back - not even when it's been burning him from the inside out to hold it in for a solid twenty-four hours.  
  
"I love you too, you know," he whispers, still staring around at the apartment, their apartment.   
  
"I think I had maybe figured that out, yeah," Adam teases, stroking his thumb across the apple of Chandler's cheek.  
  
"Smartass."  
  
They eat - it is chili, thick and spicy and perfect with the tartness of the bread and the sangria Adam made that's been chilling in the fridge. And afterward, Adam lays Chandler down on the new bottle-green duvet in their ( _their!_ ) redecorated bedroom and gives him the slowest, sexiest blowjob of his entire life, and he screams out to his new ceiling about how he's in love. And after that, Chandler tells everyone about the new place on Facebook, and Twitter, and Instagram, and Adam laughs at him as he heads down to the first floor to wash the dishes. And already it feels like home.  
  
_**@iGottaKiehling**  Love; I'm doing it for love._

 

-xxx-

 

(fin)


End file.
